Nightmares and Nocturnes
by olivieblake
Summary: A story per night to save her life. Dramione, dystopian post-war AU. HEA. COMPLETE.
1. The Night Girl

**Nightmares and Nocturnes**

 **Summary:** _A story per night to save her life. Dramione, dystopian post-war AU._

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and claim no profit from this work. Credit to Joanne Rowling.

 **A/N:** This is my second Dramione AU (after my _This World or Any Other_ series) and takes place in a separate storyverse. It stands alone from my other work.

The premise is based on the legendary Scheherazade from _One Thousand and One Nights_ and will have numerous other fairytales woven throughout. The story begins seven years after the Battle of Hogwarts, and as will become clear over time, Voldemort has won. The first chapter is by far the darkest, and as a warning, it contains references to psychological torture. However, it will get better from here.

As always, I hope you find the story interesting, and look forward to starting a new journey with you.

* * *

 **PART I  
 _NIGHTMARES_  
**

* * *

 **Chapter 1: The Night Girl**

She tried to lift her head from the ground but couldn't; her mind had long since lost command over her movements, and it seemed that even muscle memory could sometimes fail. She let her eyes open and close slowly, feeling her chest creak as it expanded and contracted, wondering why it still did.

At one point, she had been keeping track of the days. At one point she had been convinced that her current state of being was only temporary, that surely no twisted fate could have seen fit to punish her with this.

And _this_ , whatever it was, had to amount to madness, really. She could identify that, somehow, mustering only the clarity necessary to diagnose herself as though the tiny, nearly inconsequential sliver that remained of her sanity, the piece of her that had managed to evade the slow destruction of her captivity, were taunting her from within; it whispered to her about how _far_ she'd gone, how monumentally _distanced_ she'd become from what she once was. It reminded her of her catastrophic failures and her imagined terrors, every single one of them amounting to both wretchedly true and spectacularly false, trapping her in a state of paralyzing stupefaction for her harrowing lack of proof. She had been heralded for her mind only to have it turn on her, to find herself engulfed by its desolation.

She had once been keeping track of her own capture, letting her nails grow savagely unkempt so as to carve a shallow line for each day that passed into the rotting wood of the floor beneath her, only to realize with the last of her lucidity that her captors were taunting her, changing their patterns and shifting her meals so as to take ownership over even her concept of time.

It was to be her last possession.

Then she became disjointed and unsettled, biting her nails until her cuticles bled, and the tiny lines that railed against the grain of the wood began to change shape and mock her, taking the form of her fears; she steadily unclenched her grip on reality, losing herself with every passing moment that the diminutive, linear army battled relentlessly against her soul.

That was when she started hearing them again.

* * *

Draco Malfoy sauntered through the halls of the manor, hearing the tap of his shoes against the floor as his steps echoed around him, making their grand escape toward the high ceilings and ricocheting back to his ears with a comforting reassurance.

 _Still walking_ , the sound congratulated him. _Still standing._

It was hard to consider himself fortunate, though it was perhaps twice as difficult to consider any other applicable term. Funny that what he'd once considered a mistake, what he'd once been _so sure_ would be his undoing - standing in the Astronomy Tower with his wand to a feeble old man's head - would eventually save his life.

Morality, then, was hardly an impenetrable shield.

 _What did you imagine would happen?_ his father had asked, the one time he'd foolishly tried to refuse. _What did you foresee would be the outcome?_

Death, probably. Perhaps it was rather telling that he'd never expected to emerge victorious in the inevitable unfolding between the Dark Lord and the Boy Who Lived. It was no vote of confidence for him; why had he ever expected a teenager to win, in the end?

Only in fairytales.

 _It doesn't have to be this way for you_ , his mother had said, coughing into her handkerchief and trying to hide the blood. _Just leave._

But of course he'd stayed.

 _Funny she would say that,_ Theo had remarked at her funeral, placing his hand on Draco's shoulder. _Makes you wonder what they thought they were doing with us._

Draco did not believe in speaking ill of the dead, and so he said nothing.

He propelled himself quickly through the front doors of Malfoy Manor, pulling his coat tighter around him as he stepped onto the manicured lawn. The sky was a viscous, syrupy grey with a smoldering red tint, thick with smoke and heavy with melancholy from a fire somewhere out of sight. There had been a time when he would choke on the smoke and wonder who was responsible; eventually it became customary not to ask, and then pointless to wonder. Draco flicked the flutter of ash from his shoulders and looked up at the partially concealed sun, wondered when he had last felt clean.

"Father," he called, advancing toward him. "You needed something?"

Lucius turned from where he'd been inspecting the grounds, his grey eyes narrowing in surprise.

"You're here," he commented unnecessarily.

"I am," Draco confirmed crisply, adopting the particularly erect stance that he'd developed once he'd reached his father's height. "I received an owl this morning that you needed me."

"From whom?" Lucius asked, his forehead wrinkling.

Draco cleared his throat stiffly, feeling a flutter of irritation.

"If you don't want to see me, you can always change the wards," he said carefully, making a point to control the timbre and pace of his tone. It wouldn't do to lose his temper.

"That has nothing to do with it, Draco," Lucius retorted sharply, crossing his arms impatiently. "You know that."

 _Right_.

They'd slowly stopped cohabitating shortly after Narcissa's death; one of the benefits of having been claimed by the winning side was that any potential legal claim that the remaining biological Blacks - Andromeda and the Lupin boy - could make were null and void, establishing Draco as the sole inheritor for both the Black family as well as the Malfoys. What had initially begun as a renovation of the white stucco mansion on Palace Gardens Terrace (a secondary Black property which had passed to Narcissa in the wake of her cousin Sirius's death, and then to Draco) evolved to Draco's full time inhabitation, until his presence at the Manor was limited only to errands and occasions.

Draco had made a point to make this transition quietly, as a strain in the Malfoy household simply would not do, for either himself or his father. Draco already had so shaky a claim to authority over the new recruits that distancing himself from Lucius could only cause him harm. He was protected by his name. He always had been; there was no reason for anything to change now. All he had to do - all he _ever_ had to do - was not fight with his father.

Though that was more difficult than it sounded.

"It was Rowle," Draco clarified, taking care to keep his voice low and edgeless. "If you'd like me to take it up with him, I can."

Lucius considered him for a moment. "Fine," he concluded, and Draco wondered how Lucius still saw Narcissa, how he could still find it in himself to resent his son for her absence, when all Draco saw in his reflection - no matter how hard he looked, and _truly_ , the search was unending and fervent - was Lucius. "Check in with Rowle."

"Lestrange?" Draco asked, referring to the old manor house.

The Dark Lord had been put off by the presence of natural death; Narcissa's had been no exception. Malfoy Manor was long emptied.

"Yes," Lucius replied, his eyes drifting up to regard the richly fibrous sky, plum-red where it localized above someone else's suffering.

Draco turned without another word.

* * *

"Hermione."

She cracked a single eyelid, peering into the dim light that seemed to shine directly into her eyes, glowing like a halo around his unruly black hair.

"Hi," she murmured, her fingers twitching as she attempted and failed to raise her arm, willing herself to reach for him.

Harry took a seat beside her, his face placid and still like the last time she'd seen him. She knew what he was going to ask.

"Tell me a story," he suggested, making himself comfortable as he shifted against the rotting wood. "A good one," he added, his green eyes appraising her sharply, as though he suspected she would disappoint him.

He'd become accustomed to doing this in times of stress, seeking her out for whimsy, despite the fact that she inherently possessed so little. It wasn't so much that she had ever had anything to offer, or any consolation to give; she'd simply learned from experience that people reached helplessly for their roots in times of trauma, and only she and Harry shared a muggle childhood. It had become a ritual for them, the stories, and it was the last thing they had that felt pure, and uniquely theirs.

Other than the losses, of course; and when it came to those, they drew from the same vault of emptiness.

He waited for her to speak; she felt her heart crack open and bleed for him.

"I - "

She coughed, struggling. The pressure of her voice was like knives against her throat.

 _I don't know if I can._

"Please," he begged, and she saw it again - her last glimpse of his face. The widening of his eyes as she reached for him, only to find a vacancy in the air where his fingers should have been. It was a feral kind of horror, and she wished she could take hold of it and discard it. She wish she could press her fingers to his trepidation and make him whole.

"Please."

She sighed, closing her eyes. There had never been a thing on earth she wouldn't do for Harry Potter.

"Once," she said, stopping again to clear the dusty cavern of her throat, managing a painful swallow. "Once upon a time."

Out of practice. Her voice sounded foreign and scratchy.

"Good," he told her, nudging her in his particularly juvenile way; the Boy Who Lived. "Keep going."

She ran through the stories in her head; the ones she'd grown up hearing, the ones she'd made a point to read. She must have read them all.

Which one to tell? The effort of remembering was exhausting; she half wanted to close her eyes and sleep. Potentially forever.

She found she welcomed the thought.

"Keep going," Harry repeated, and she winced at the sharp pain in her ribs as she attempted to sigh dramatically.

 _Keep going_. He would.

"Once upon a time," she said again, feeling the motion of accessing her voice start to become familiar. "There was - a girl."

"A girl," Harry echoed, his eyes sparkling behind his crooked glasses. "A beautiful girl?"

"At one time, yes," she whispered.

 _Not anymore_.

* * *

"Gosforth," Draco said, nodding to him. "Whiddon."

They looked back at him, their faces plastered with a stiff, false pleasantness. If Draco were not the son of Lucius, they likely would have been freer with their disdain.

"Malfoy," they replied, nodding to him.

"You need something?" Gosforth asked dutifully, though his body language leaned towards a scarcely concealed lack of interest.

"Rowle sent for me," Draco replied, giving into his ego and taking care to stand unnervingly close to the much shorter, much younger man.

Shorter, younger _boy_ , really, seeing as both Gosforth and Whiddon had been in their first and second year respectively at the time of the Battle of Hogwarts, which made them approximately eighteen and nineteen years old.

They were considerably harder human beings than he'd been at their age, he thought, seeing the distant edge of coolness in their eyes. He supposed that was the price they'd paid for having been subjected to the revised curriculum at Hogwarts; _crucio_ from day one meant that by the time they reached their seventh year, they were only too relieved to lay claim to their earned right of persecution, only too happy to be the ones wielding the wands. They were broken until they broke.

How fortunate they were, to not have known any other way. And how weak Draco looked by comparison, he knew; he wanted to blame them, but found he could not.

"He's not here," Whiddon returned gruffly.

The two young Death Eaters glanced at each other, appearing to wonder if they should say more; at Whiddon's quick, careless nod, Gosforth shifted to address Draco. "Might have wanted you to look in on the girl, though," he said, shrugging as though he doubted it was consequential.

Draco's brow furrowed in confusion. "Girl?"

Gosforth and Whiddon exchanged another questioning glance, though this time, they seemed equally disengaged. It seemed neither had any interest in explaining themselves.

"Downstairs," Gosforth grunted, gesturing with his pointed chin. "Found her about six months ago."

"Had her pinned as an Order member," Whiddon added. "But she's been useless."

"Useless?" Draco asked, frowning. "She said nothing?"

"Nothing useful," Gosforth clarified. "Even under veritaserum."

Somehow, Draco had his doubts in the subtlety these two possessed.

"You probably weren't asking the right questions," Draco asserted, smirking, and both of the other Death Eaters bristled at his criticism.

"Says you," Whiddon replied tightly, and only Draco's name prevented him from saying more.

A moment of charged silence passed as all three of them marinated in the unaired sentiments.

"What have you done with her?" Draco asked finally, his eyes flicking between them.

"Nothing," Gosforth retorted, his tone artificially tinged with a disinterest that sounded more like resignation. "Nothing of interest _there_ , really," he added, his face contorting in disgust.

"Typical cycle," Whiddon contributed, referring back to the original question. "Usual tactics. But nothing," he repeated. "And got nothing out of her, either."

"My guess is Rowle needs her disposed of," Gosforth muttered, and for the briefest moment, Draco almost squinted at him, wondering how a person reached the point of full emotional departure that such a phrase would escape him so effortlessly.

"You're welcome to it," Gosforth added, his brown eyes hard as they met Draco's. "Save us the trouble and take care of it yourself."

 _For once,_ he seemed to want to add.

As a Death Eater, Draco's resume was less than impressive. In their minds, he'd had a chance at glory once, seven years ago, and done little since then. Funny how that worked.

Funny how things turned out.

"Where is she?" Draco asked.

* * *

"And then the prince put the slipper on her foot," she continued, "and it slipped on very easily, as though it were made of wax."

"And everyone was astonished," Harry prompted.

"Yes," she agreed. "And her sisters found her to be the beautiful lady they'd seen at the ball, and a few days later, the prince married her, finding her to be as good as she was beautiful."

"What's the lesson?" Harry murmured, and she imagined running her fingers through his hair, letting them brush coolly against his scalp.

"Two lessons," she reminded him. "First, that beauty is a treasure, but graciousness is paramount."

She had always preferred Perrault's version. It was the one her father had read her as a child, and she could hear him now. _Without graciousness, nothing is possible. With it, you can do anything._

"And the second?" Harry prodded.

"That it is good to have courage, intelligence, and wit," she told him, finding herself momentarily blinded as tears blurred behind half-closed lids. "But even those qualities may fail to bring success, without the blessing of a fairy godmother."

She'd thought that was what magic was, when she'd found it: the fairy godmother in her story. She always thought that all she would have to do was master it, and then she, too, would know the sweetness of a _happily ever after._ But as it turned out, magic had light and dark that raged within itself. Magic was not the answer.

Magic was the price.

"Are we not blessed?" Harry asked, his voice fading to a whisper.

 _No,_ she imagined telling him, staring at his scar. _We were never blessed._

"Are we alone?" he asked, insistent.

She sighed. _Just let me sleep._

"I think so," she told him, letting her eyes fall shut.

"Wait," Harry said, and she nearly gasped with sorrow. "Tell me another."

* * *

There was no source of natural light in the room, only a flickering lamp in the corner; the entire space reeked and pulsed with ongoing pain and despondency. There was no care taken here, of course, but also no obvious attempts at torture; Draco had seen the effort made at breaking Order members before, and this had not been one. Instead it was the portrait of a slow, gradual descent into madness, eerie with the stench of decay, and the girl lay in the center of the room, a limp, insignificant figure who lay curled around herself. Her hands were out as though she'd been reaching for something, surrounded by tiny marks that were etched beside her face.

Draco swallowed uncomfortably, turning to Gosforth. "Can we do something about this?" he asked, waving his hand around in displeasure at the general disrepair of the room.

"Why?" Gosforth asked, shrugging. "Won't take long, will it?"

"Still," Draco snapped, feeling his stomach lurch at the implication. "I don't make a habit of surrounding myself in squalor."

Gosforth shrugged again. "Suit yourself," he pronounced grimly, and Draco, seeing that the younger man was not going to make the effort, lifted his wand with an impatient grimace.

He cast a couple of charms to clean up the room, ridding it of its unpleasant smell and the damp, rotting quality to the walls and floor, and stepped closer, eyeing the iron cast around the girl's ankles and wrists, the chains that kept her bound within the wards of the room.

"Where did they find her?" Draco asked, taking in the matted hair that covered her face, following the sharp protrusion of bony angles from her shoulders and hips.

"Some kind of raid," Gosforth said, making a careless hand gesture to emphasize his impassivity. "There was at least one more person when they arrived, but she was the only one left behind."

Draco squinted at her, sensing something that he couldn't yet name.

"She's said nothing?" Draco asked, frowning. "You don't know who she is?"

"She was completely silent for months," Gosforth replied. "And now her mind's fucking addled. At first we thought she might have been important," he added defensively, as though Draco had thought to question his motivation. "She's got that mark that they all have." He paused. " _Had_ ," he corrected himself.

"The one they found on the others?" Draco asked, frowning. "The phoenix?"

Gosforth nodded. "On her back," he confirmed. "So we thought that meant something."

"It probably does," Draco noted, crouching beside her. There was something familiar about her, though if she had any distinguishing features, they had long since been altered by her time in captivity. Her build was undetectable from emaciation and her face was covered by her hair, itself a strange, wilted colorlessness that rested in a tangled haze around her shoulders.

"It's certainly not worth keeping her for," Gosforth spat, his face visibly contorting in disgust as Draco reached over to inspect her, his face inches from hers. "She hasn't said anything of use," he reminded Draco, "and she's fucking taking up space."

Draco ignored him, slowly drawing back a curtain of dingy, matted curls and feeling a brief lurch in his stomach, taking stock of the curve of her lips. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was halted and shallow.

"She hasn't said anything of use," Draco echoed slowly, feeling curiosity bubble in his chest. "Has she said anything at all?"

"She babbles a little sometimes," Gosforth answered impatiently. "Tells herself stories, I guess. Talks to a hallucination."

"A hallucination?" Draco repeated. "Who is she talking to?"

Gosforth held up his hands, a tacit claim of ignorance.

Draco shifted forward onto his knees, turning her slightly so that she lay on her back. As the rest of her hair fell away from her face, her eyes fluttered open, revealing a set of slightly unfocused golden brown orbs, the light he once remembered in them all but dimmed away.

"A boy," she whispered, and his heart wrenched. "A boy so steeped in sun - "

She cut herself off, her chest heaving with sharp, biting coughs, and Draco looked up at Gosforth, his breath suspended.

"Tell me this isn't Hermione Granger," Draco pleaded, his voice breaking.

"Who?" Gosforth replied, but by then she was already speaking.

* * *

She saw the light around his face, the pale glow from his hair, and remembered.

"A boy," she said. "A boy so steeped in sun - "

"Wait," Harry told her, interrupting. "Start from the beginning."

He had always liked his stories a certain way.

"Once there was a monster," she began, the memory flooding through her and beginning to course in her veins, thudding in her ears. "A monster who craved control, and who created a boy only in the day, and a girl only in the night."

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and she closed her eyes.

"The boy was kept separate," she continued, knowing Harry would want her to go on. "He was raised only to see the light, and he was so steeped in sun, and his childhood so saturated by it, that he knew no danger. He knew no fear."

She thought she heard another voice from somewhere outside her haze, but the story was important; she had to keep telling the story.

"He was more a live thunderbolt than a human being," she continued, picturing the pale, shining head, the glow of his skin. "Raised to fear nothing. Raised to hunt," she added, picturing the way the storm raged in his eyes. "But the girl was kept in the dark, never permitted to know more than what existed within the walls of her prison."

"Tell me about the boy," she heard him say softly.

Was it Harry? It must have been Harry, and so she continued.

"One day, in a twist of fate, the boy experienced the darkness," Hermione told him. "He thought himself brave, to pursue an animal of the night."

She paused, swallowing to ease the pressure of the words against her throat.

"When he was no longer in the light," she went on, her voice hushed. "When there was no light left to be found, and the darkness surrounded him, he suddenly grew fearful. The courage he thought he possessed had never been his own, he learned; it was not that he was courageous, never that he had been brave; only that he had been kept in the light for so long, so warmed by its protection, that he knew not the truth of the dark."

"He was but a spark," she added. "But he found that he himself was nothing, and it made him feeble, and he saw himself a coward."

"Reminds me of someone," Harry commented, and then she was sure it was him. "Doesn't it?"

"Who was it?"

Another voice. Hushed, in her ear, like a secret.

"Draco," she said, and like magic, his face suddenly appeared.

* * *

The moment she said his name, only loud enough for him to hear, every muscle in his body tensed; every inch of him went rigid.

"This is Hermione Granger," he asserted, tasting a metallic kind of rage as he looked up at Gosforth. "How could you not have known?"

The other man's face was blank; what a world he had known.

What a world he _hadn't_ known, Draco corrected himself.

"This is the last known associate of Harry Potter," Draco informed him tersely. "She might be the last link to whatever remains of the Order."

"Oh," Gosforth uttered faintly, though his face hardened, clenching his fists defensively as he anticipated Draco's reproach.

"She could have information about them," Draco said, feeling a strange, uneasy rumbling in his chest as he slowly came to realize the significance of the woman before him. "She would have been prepared for veritaserum," he added confidently, feeling the pieces start to align; another Order member wouldn't, a lesser witch wouldn't, but _this_ one surely would. "She would have known how to avoid giving information - "

"Still, she's not helpful," Gosforth reminded him, flinching as he attempted to cover his mistake. "She's useless, especially now."

"No," Draco argued, shaking his head adamantly. _Not true._ "I - I went to school with her - " he paused, looking back and trying not to feel sick at the thought of what had become of the brightest witch of her age.

"She's the brains of the operation," he added, feeling at once the significance of that statement, the value of what she might still be. "Whatever she possesses in her mind, it's - "

"It's nothing but nonsense," Gosforth countered irritably.

"It's not," Draco said, aghast, wondering how the boy before him could be so stupid. "She's - she's giving up information," he realized, thinking about the details of her story. "She's giving details, and - "

He felt his mouth form a tight, grim line. "These are not empty words," he said carefully. "Whatever story she's telling" - he inhaled sharply - "whatever _hallucination_ she's talking to, there has to be a basis in truth."

"How can you know that?" Gosforth scoffed, crossing his arms. "What do you think you're going to do?" he added skeptically. "Translate for her?"

 _But he found that he himself was nothing, and it made him feeble, and he saw himself a coward._

"Yes," Draco said stonily. "That's exactly what I'm going to do."

* * *

 **a/n:** Endless thanks to my love and my muse, DrSallySparrow, and to UnicornShenanigans, who patiently endures all of my story ideas. Inspiration featured in this chapter includes _Cinderella_ as written by Perrault, and _The Day Boy and the Night Girl_ by George MacDonald.

If you follow my other works, the final Bachelorette drabble will post in _Amortentia_ on Tuesday, with a new _Youth_ chapter to follow shortly.

 _ **[Edited 9/1/2016 to add:** **this story is categorized angst for a reason.** Please note that while I will not list specific trigger warnings for each chapter, there may be some tense/upsetting references to past situations that may include violence or psychological trauma (i.e. in the seven years prior to this chapter). This, like all my works, will end happily for Dramione, and there will be no major character deaths; but assume that in this dystopia, there are background deaths that may be referenced throughout the narrative.]_


	2. The Looking Glass

**Chapter 2: The Looking Glass**

 _The boy was so steeped in sun, and his childhood so saturated by it, that he knew nothing of darkness, or stars, or moon. He lived his days in favor and in privilege, glorified in the sun._

 _One day, he caught sight of an animal unknown to him; one familiar, but distinct, and it settled into a hollow which the boy himself could not reach. He gave chase, noting the chaos the animal left in its path, but with great leaps and bounds, the creature stole farther and farther ahead of him, and vanished. Defeated, he turned to his keeper._

" _What animal was that?" he asked. "How did it escape?"_

" _The Chosen One," his keeper sneered. "A young lion, who seeks another path."_

" _A coward, then," the boy determined. "Easy prey."_

" _For now," his keeper replied. "But one day, you will learn the hunt is not without its challenges."_

 _The boy realized the young lion must be one of the creatures about which the monster, who cast an immutable shadow of fear to rule over both the boy and his keeper, had ominously warned. But once the boy had seen it, his curiosity could not be assuaged. He continued to hunt, but not with his usual spirit. He could not find it in him to pursue the hunt with fervor._

 _When the time came for him to capture his first lion, he ventured for the first time into darkness. As the light of his charmed existence first began to fade, he felt a sudden tremor in his heart, a sense of fear that overtook him. He could not think what it was, could not reconcile it with his mind; but knew, somehow, that he was no longer the boy he had known, or even near what he had thought himself._

 _He found that he himself was nothing, and it made him feeble, and he saw himself a coward._

 _The beast who would have been his prey stole upon the boy; he reached within himself for courage and came up empty-handed, and could not even raise his hand from his side to strike. The only courage he could muster was a coward's; the only strength he had within him was to run, and not to fight. The only element that remained was his own contempt, and the ghost of his failures that howled after him, filled with screams and shrieks and roars which neither time nor distance could quell._

 _As he fled back to his home, to the safehold of his naive virtue, the moon peered up over its edge; it was only then that the boy realized the extent of the darkness that surrounded him. There was fresh terror, ghastly and gruesome, and he was desperate to escape; but despite all this, he had never known another way, and so he plunged in, struggling to surface._

 _The monster, having given orders, took for granted they were obeyed, and that he ruled unquestionably over all the creatures of the day and night. But the monster could not get into the habit of peering into the depths, and by chance, his gaze passed over the day boy and the night girl, leaving one to slip out of the dark._

 _Then it seemed to the girl that some ball of light, some source, was watching over her._

* * *

"Do you realize what you've done?"

Lucius was furious.

"Do you _not_?" Draco countered, feeling his expression go cold with contempt. "Are you really just as far gone as they are, that you can't manage to see her value?"

"You are living in the past, Draco," Lucius seethed, his teeth gritted in anger as he paced the marble floor of the manor's foyer. "Whatever value she once had, it amounts to nothing now."

Draco was astounded, his mouth agape in disbelief.

"You know who she is, and what she was," Draco urged. "How can you _say_ that - "

Lucius held up a hand, silencing him.

"The Order of the Phoenix has failed to materialize in any meaningful way for nearly a year," Lucius admonished his son, his grey eyes flashing. "He hardly needs reminding they exist," he added fiercely, "nor does _anyone_."

"You can't tell me he's not still hunting Potter," Draco returned quietly, a sharp, metallic quality to his voice slicing in the air between them. "He'll never be finished with him, Father, and you know it - "

"Still, you risk _immeasurable_ displeasure," Lucius cut in tersely. "If it were to get out somehow," he added, his countenance taking on a contorted grimace of dread, "if anyone were to find out who she was - " he paused, seemingly to shudder. "You truly know _nothing_ of the consequences."

"So it won't get out, then," Draco declared boldly, widening his stance and letting his gaze follow his father's pacing form, unflinching in his defense. "Gosforth and Whiddon have their orders, which only leaves me" - he paused, giving his father a pointed stare - "and _you_."

It was a question of sorts; a prompt for validation. To his credit, Lucius recognized the statement for what it was.

"Don't be ridiculous," Lucius muttered impatiently, swatting away the implication of doubt. "It serves me no purpose _whatsoever_ to let this get out - "

Draco suppressed an agitated sigh. Lucius first, as always.

"Then if we're dealing in potential gains and losses," Draco said coolly. "I should emphasize that you continue to overlook the purpose to all this." He regarded his father pointedly, crossing his arms. "You anticipate my failure - "

" - and well I should," Lucius murmured.

" - but you apply no credence to the possibility of my success," Draco finished, his mouth twitching in displeasure at the unsavory interruption.

"Which would be what?" Lucius questioned brusquely, turning to face his son. "What could you possibly produce that makes this" - he paused, openly sneering - "this _impulsivity_ of yours in any way valuable to me?"

The look of venomous skepticism on his father's face was enough to make Draco want to disapparate on the spot. _I'm a grown man, Father,_ he thought viciously. _I no longer need your permission. I no longer require your approval._

Except, of course, he very _much_ needed his father's approval, and so he took a moment to quell his frustration, recalling his capacity for restraint.

It wasn't like Draco had not seen this coming. He had known with an almost alarming clairvoyance the outcome of his disapparation from Lestrange manor, weighed down more heavily by his so-called _impulsivity_ than by Granger's nearly insubstantial volume in his arms; he could have scheduled his day to the minute around the fallout. When the inevitable owl had arrived from his father, Draco already sipped half a glass of firewhiskey, preparing himself for the argument.

 _What could you possibly produce?_

The answer hadn't changed for decades.

"Potter," Draco said tightly, swallowing to suppress his agitation. "With Granger, I can produce Potter."

Lucius studied his son with a newfound curiosity. There was no denying the appeal; Draco knew that much. Despite his father's obvious reluctance, Draco was far more confident in the strength of his leverage than he was openly admitting. Lucius could doubt the Order and its influence all he wanted, but they both knew the Dark Lord would never be satisfied until the Boy Who Lived was more than a ghost. For the Dark Lord, when it came to finding Harry Potter: dead was preferable, living was stomachable. Corporeal, though, was _mandatory_.

They both knew this, and understood it well. Draco could see with predictable clarity that he had won over Lucius's better judgment.

"If anyone finds out," Lucius began slowly, finally speaking after several moments of silence, "if _anyone_ learns of her presence, she dies," he warned.

More statement than threat, though Draco had no doubt in its veracity.

"Understood," Draco acknowledged, waiting.

"And if nothing comes of this," Lucius continued, his grey eyes flashing. "If she provides no information, or her information is faulty - "

"She dies," Draco agreed flatly, inclining his head in concession. "I'll kill her myself if nothing comes of it," he added casually, though he could feel the lack of mettle in his tone. Even Gosforth's offhanded statement - ' _My guess is Rowle needs her disposed of'_ \- had been more convincing, and it seemed that much was obvious to them both.

"No," Lucius corrected, his lips sealed in a thin, threatening line as he came to stand a mere inches away from his son. "If nothing comes of it, _I'll_ be the one to kill her."

There were a number of unspoken sentiments in the statement, and Draco heard each one as though Lucius had shouted them in his ear -

 _You disappointed me once; it won't be forgotten._

 _You grew up to be weak; your word amounts to nothing._

 _Your record is flimsy; you can't be trusted._

 _Fail, and you're no son of mine._

"Fine," Draco replied tightly. "Far be it from me to deny you the pleasure," he added, attempting to simulate mirth and producing only ire.

Lucius's eyes narrowed.

"I'll want indications of progress," Lucius informed him, finally taking a step back as the confrontation regressed from thinly concealed threat to discussion of logistics. "Constant updates."

"Constant vigilance," Draco muttered to himself, though he straightened at Lucius's subsequent glare.

"Yes, Father," he sighed, louder, fighting the strain of impatience. "Indications of progress, and she dies if nothing comes of it." He inclined his head in mock subservience. "Got it."

He'd overstepped; a fire started in Lucius's eyes.

"Once again you force me to shield you from his displeasure," Lucius commented, his voice dangerously low. Draco bristled, hearing the strain of derision.

"Well," Draco mused facetiously, "when you can hand him Potter, I doubt _this_ will be the song you sing."

The fire dimmed as a flash of unmistakable yearning took its place.

"Perhaps," Lucius conceded, as Draco had known he would. "Though, if you discover Potter is dead - "

The redundancy was becoming tiresome.

" - _she dies_ ," Draco supplied coolly. "I think I've got it," he quipped. Unwisely, really, though nothing came of it.

"You'd better," Lucius cautioned, his own tone riddled with agitation. "He's worked for decades to suppress the Order, and with _her_ resurfacing - "

"It puts us in danger," Draco finished. "I _know_ \- "

"No," Lucius corrected tightly. "It puts _you_ in danger," he clarified, and Draco fought an unruly chill as it traveled up his spine. "Should it come to that, I assure you, I will not be the one to take the fall."

A first.

"Glad to hear Mother was right about family," Draco ventured, after perhaps a minute of weary tension.

"Your mother's gone, Draco," Lucius snapped, the pain of the statement etched into the hard lines of his face. He pivoted abruptly, taking long strides away from his son until he finally came to pause in the doorframe, his head bent in misery.

The two of them stood in silence, drawing out a moment they both knew would have torn apart Narcissa's heart.

"Where did you take her?" Lucius asked tangentially, turning to look over his shoulder.

 _Hermione Granger._ It still hadn't begun to feel real.

"My house," Draco replied.

Lucius let his head loll back, still facing away.

"Don't fuck this up, Draco," he advised tersely.

He left without looking back.

* * *

Hermione let her eyes flutter open slowly, trying to adjust to an intangible brightness around her. There was no illumination in the room, no manufactured light to speak of; but as her lids lifted groggily, she could sense a fragile warmth, a distant comfort. She felt a weight on top of her and realized with a jolt that it was a blanket, heavy and supple, and that the gleam invading her sight was the crisp whiteness of the material around her, the first clean thing she'd touched in longer than she cared to consider.

Not her cell, she remembered, frowning. Not that desolate cage of a room.

She woke in a haze of sorts, the room swimming around her as she slowly raised her head. She tried to sit up but Harry leaned over, stilling her.

"Careful," he warned, and she nodded, choosing instead to slowly transfer her weight to shift onto her back, feeling the strain in her disintegrated muscles as she uncurled from her fetal position. The fabric beneath her was soft and cool against her skin in the places that it touched, though she could feel that she was still wearing the tattered rags she'd inhabited throughout her captivity.

"Where are we?" she asked feebly, letting her head loll to the side as she looked at him.

"Somewhere new," Harry deduced, looking around.

Hermione finally saw fit to analyze her surroundings, letting her eyes travel around the space as they adjusted to her state of waking. She was in a small, sparse bedroom with a fireplace to her left, featuring narrow windows on either side that appeared to be fitted with charmed coverings, allowing only the faintest glow of light. A warm, consoling heat seemed to radiate from them, as though behind the covered frames the sun might be shining, or the moon might be glowing; though that could have been simply her imagination.

She saw a door on her right and her chest tightened. Her former place of residence had had no door, or at least, had possessed one that was spelled to prevent her from seeing it. She had suspected - back when she was still in the business of suspecting - that it was part of some psychological experiment, some ongoing reminder that she was trapped within the walls of her confinement. But this - _this_ did not feel that way. It was a door.

A door that led to _somewhere_.

For a moment she experienced a hasty rush of bitter euphoria, a flicker of something inside her urging her to _run_ , to scramble to her feet and head for whatever might await -

But then the knob started to turn and she regressed to a dull sense of fear, shrinking back against the pillows.

"Wait," Harry said, putting his hand out to hover above her arm. "Hold on."

Light spilled into the room as the door cracked open, and Hermione found she was shaking. She saw him first as little more than a shadow, a darkened figure with a glow around his edges, before she realized that he _himself_ was glowing, his skin pale and bright in the dim light of the room.

"Granger," he said, and she remembered.

* * *

She was shrinking away from him in the bed and so he was careful with his approach, entering the room gradually, arms out, a bit like he was encountering an animal who'd long been caged.

"Granger," he attempted cautiously, waiting to see if some recognition would appear in her expression.

It did, faintly, and he slowly exhaled.

"Just me," he assured her, and her eyes flicked briefly to something on her left and then back to him, her brow furrowing slightly.

She seemed to want to ask questions, but didn't appear capable of managing it; confusion swam across her face and perhaps because she looked so small, or so helpless - or perhaps for some other reason entirely that he could not be sure of - he took pity on her, leaning against the post of her bed and beginning to ramble aloud, casually addressing the wonderings that a piece of her might still have.

"You've been in the old Lestrange manor house for six months," he informed her, speaking into the air as though they were carrying on a casual conversation with someone else, and she were merely eavesdropping. "This is my house, in London. Not the Manor," he assured her, and at that, he let his eyes settle on hers.

If she found that to be a relief, she didn't let it show.

"I . . . didn't think you'd want me to put you in a compromising position," he explained, gesturing to her. "That's why you're still wearing that. But if you want, I can take you to the bathroom," he suggested. "Let you clean up."

She seemed, then, to become conscious of her state of discomfort, her hands clutching at the neckline of the robes that had long since been reduced to rags. He had charmed her as clean as he could upon arrival, of course, but still; he doubted it was enough.

He doubted anything he could do would be enough.

At her look of pain mixed with a crushing recognition of shame, her fingers gripping the coarse material that had chafed against her skin, Draco felt another rush of pity, a wave of sympathy, and realized he was taking steps towards her, his hand out for hers. She hesitated.

"I'm just trying to help," he told her.

She was vulnerable, that much was obvious, but had experienced far too much to be entirely trusting; she eyed his hand but didn't move, her lashes fluttering against the pale skin of her cheek as she tore relentlessly at her lip, clearly embattled with indecision.

It was all he could do not to run to her and shake her, scream at her, throw himself at her feet and _beg_ her to come back to life - but of course that wouldn't do. He let his hand drift back to his side in resignation; her eyes followed its path, her breath caught.

He tried to think of who she had been. He tried to remember the witch he'd known, the last time he'd seen her, a little glimmer of rebellion in her eyes as she'd bounded away, instead of the broken person before him, a ghost of who she'd been.

Hermione Granger cherished explanation, he knew, and knelt at the altar of logic. This would not make sense to her, his offering - but he didn't have it in him to explain it.

"I want to know what happened to you," he said, recognizing the plea in his voice. "I need to know what happened."

She considered him for a moment but said nothing; her eyes fell again to his hand at his side, and so he offered it to her a second time.

 _She babbles a little sometimes._

 _Tells herself stories, I guess._

She wasn't who she was. He would have to start somewhere.

"Hermione," Draco said, holding out his hand. "Tell me a story."

* * *

She wondered if he were real; she put her hand in his, just testing it. His palm was cool and his fingers curled around hers, the pad of his thumb catching against the sharp angles of her knuckles.

It had been months, he'd said; it felt like a lifetime.

"A story," she said, and he looked up, his eyes wide at the sound of her voice.

"Where should I start?" she asked Harry. "What story should I tell?"

"Start from the beginning," he suggested, and as her eyes traveled over his unruly black hair - black as ebony, and after so long in the shadows, his skin as white as _snow_ \- she knew it would have to be him.

* * *

She waited a moment before she spoke again, but Draco was already frozen in place.

"Once upon a time," she said, "there was a powerful Queen, cruel and spiteful, but who possessed beauty like the world had never witnessed. Because of this, she was proud and haughty, and she could not bear that anyone else should ever surpass her in her beauty."

She gave him a questioning glance - _is it okay? -_ and he slowly moved to sit beside her, perched curiously at the edge of the bed.

"She had a wonderful looking glass, a mirror that would tell her what she wished to hear; she would say to it ' _mirror, mirror, on the wall, who in this land is the fairest of all?'_ and the mirror would answer that she, indeed, was the fairest in the land."

"She would ask it every day - ' _who in this land is the fairest of all?'_ \- and every day the mirror would tell her that it was she, the proud and haughty queen, who was the fairest in the land. Until," she said, taking a sharp, deep breath, "until, one day, the mirror revealed that there was to be a child born to the kingdom."

"One with skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood, and hair as black as ebony," she continued, the description seeping from her tongue as though it had been waiting in her mind, a thought untapped. "And then the Queen was shocked, and she turned green with envy; and from that hour, her heart heaved in her breast, for she hated the child so much."

"She tried many times to find the child; first to kill her at her mother's breast, but in her failure, she marked the child for her own," she went on. "Unbeknownst to the Queen, in her failure, she had marked the child as her equal, and tied her own life to the child's."

Draco realized he had been holding his breath. If this was madness, it was entrancing.

"The Queen allowed her hatred to fester, and she had no peace, day or night," Hermione continued. "The child grew," she added. "And with every passing day, she matched the Queen in beauty, and endowed with the Queen's own power, she became in every sense a challenge; she was, then, the only one who could defeat the cruel and hateful Queen."

"The Chosen One," she murmured, and Draco felt his chest tighten.

"When the time came that the child was of age, the Queen brought forth the entirety of her forces, threatening all those the child loved, and who looked to the child for hope," she went on. "The child, being readied from birth to lead, and to sacrifice, took it upon herself to surrender to the mercy of the Queen, that others may be saved. The Queen, then, called a huntsman, one that had always been loyal to her service - offering even his own child to the Queen," she said, a tentative halting in her voice, which told him that this was not part of the story. "And the Queen, who believed the huntsman to be loyal, instructed him to take the child to the forest to be killed."

"But the huntsman feared for his own child, and was so taken with the promise of the child before him, the Queen's bitter enemy, that he took pity on her, even as he was about to pierce her innocent heart."

She looked up, meeting his eye, and at her sparkle of clarity, he knew what he had known from the start. The story was no madness at all; every detail was intentional.

"Instead, the huntsman told the young girl to flee, and he returned to the Queen with word that the child was dead," Hermione said, her voice hushed. "The huntsman knew that wild beasts may soon devour the girl, that the girl may still, in time, meet her bitter, tragic end - but he could not be held responsible for her life; could not cause her to suffer the way his own child might surely suffer."

She paused in her story, and he bathed helplessly in the golden glow of her eyes.

"And so the girl remained alone in the forest; spared, and yet thrown out from all that she had known," Hermione said, her eyes leaving Draco's face to turn away. "And yet she spoke into the wind - ' _I will rise, I will rise'_ \- and the Queen heard the whispers, and never slept well another night."

Only when she fell silent did he realize he'd been hanging on her every word, his chest angled towards her as he leaned across the bed, anxious for more.

"And?" he said, speaking for the first time in the midst of her narrative. "What happened to the girl?"

She looked back at him, her face drawn and etched with sorrow.

"I'm tired," she whispered, and he thought he felt himself collapse.

* * *

"You changed the story," Harry remarked, though she did not answer him until after Draco had gone.

"I'm tired of the old tales," Hermione confessed, turning wearily to face him. "For once, I want to tell a story that's true."

"My lips are hardly as red as _blood_ ," Harry pointed out, smirking.

She closed her eyes. "Details," she permitted, breathing in the faint smell of gardenias that seemed to linger in the air.

Harry was silent for a moment.

"You didn't tell him the ending," he remarked.

"He can't possibly understand yet," Hermione replied easily, thinking of the pitying look that filled his face when he looked at her. "He's not ready to hear the end."

"Is he part of the end, do you think?" Harry asked.

She paused, uncertain.

"There are so many stories," she reminded him. "So many others."

Harry seemed uneasy. "Do you trust him?"

She thought about it.

"With my life?"

He nodded.

"Yes," she replied. "He's broken too," she added; confident, at least, in that. "I can see it."

Harry nodded again, considering her for another moment.

"Do you trust him with the truth?" he asked.

She felt the atmosphere darken significantly.

"Not yet," she confessed. "Not yet."

But as quickly as her spirits had dampened, she found herself strangely at ease again, thinking of her hand in his, and the pulsing of his touch.

He had promised to let her sleep, and to return again; she'd have no wand, he warned, so she would need to come to him. There was a lingering command to his presence, and in some respects, it was comforting; it was enough to assure her that she was not there for nothing. There was something that he, too, wanted.

Something that he _needed_.

She couldn't be sure what it was, nor could he be sure she could give it, and so it seemed they were at an impasse; the future was uncertain, and thus, the present steeped in doubt.

But here, in his home, she tasted an inkling of safety, and so she found her way to sleep.

 _Then it seemed to the girl that some ball of light, some source, was watching over her._

* * *

 **a/n:** Influence in this chapter comes from the Brothers Grimm version of _Snow White and the Seven Dwarves_ and George MacDonald's _The Day Boy and the Night Girl_. Right now the passages likely feel abstract, but that will adjust as Hermione's mental state does.

Dedicated to purqatory!


	3. The Good Outlaw

**Chapter 3: The Good Outlaw**

 _The monster, having given orders, took for granted they were obeyed, and that he ruled unquestionably over all the creatures of the day and night. But the monster could not get into the habit of peering into the depths, and by chance, his gaze passed over the day boy and the night girl, leaving one to slip out of the dark._

 _The girl, being herself the object of the monster's loathing, had been forced into the shadows, held captive in the darkness. Everything she knew of the world she had learned from the dark, from her position of displeasure under the abominable shadow of the monster's influence. She grew in the chasm of his hatred, and in the clutches of the monster's grasp, she was reduced almost to nothing._

 _There was a time when she thought there was no world outside the darkness; indeed, there was a time when she could believe no other element existed but the dark. In the diminutiveness of her hope she had been sure that if ever there had been light, the darkness had surely eaten it up. Her access to the world was scattered and small; it seemed to the girl that she possessed nothing but a vision of a closed door, and for a time, it was a door she dared not approach, lest she become overtaken by the monster, or by the spiny tendrils of his accursed reign._

 _But then it seemed to the girl that some ball of light, some source, was watching over her, and when that doorway was laid bare for her, the desire at once awoke to escape from her prison. She scarcely knew what she would find, but still she went, as the desire grew irresistible; she must follow her ball of light, she reasoned. She longed for understanding, and for the kiss of its humble warmth._

 _And yet, alas! Out was very much like in, she realized, stumbling out of her cage, for the same enemy, the darkness, was here also. And yet, in nearly the same moment, she sensed a great gladness, a pulsing ebb and throb of light, which pushed towards her from a distance, as though to reach out a hand for her to grasp. It did not seem to know the way but still she reached for it, stumbled towards the shiningness of it, the truth somehow made clear to her, revealed to her as though written in the depths of her soul._

 _For she had never been blessed with certainty, but this, at least, was true: the light, like herself, was seeking the way out; and it longed, as she did, for more._

* * *

Draco lay stiff and still in bed until well into the morning, replaying her story in his head.

 _Once upon a time there was a powerful Queen, cruel and spiteful._

The Dark Lord, surely.

 _There was a child born to the kingdom; one with skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood, and hair as black as ebony._

Potter, clearly, though the visual was dramatized at best. If Draco had any doubts, the whisper of ' _the Chosen One'_ on Granger's lips had put them instantly to rest.

 _The Queen tried many times to find the child; first to kill her at her mother's breast, but in her failure, she marked the child for her own. Unbeknownst to the Queen, in her failure, she had marked the child as her equal, and tied her own life to the child's._

Draco frowned, meeting his first collision with Granger's particular flavor of maddening opacity. _Marked the child as her equal_ seemed a rather important line; _tied her own life to the child_ even more so, and equally bewildering.

Perhaps he'd missed a step; he thought back to the beginning of the story, the little details about the Queen.

 _She had a wonderful looking glass, a mirror that would tell her what she wished to hear . . . until one day, the mirror revealed that there was to be a child born to the kingdom._

A looking glass. Inelegant, he expected, for Granger to be referencing the object in a literal sense; a _mirror_ , he thought meditatively, feeling around in his brain, searching the cavernous reaches of his memory for meaning.

A mirror, and a revelation.

 _We must be strong now, Draco,_ he heard his mother murmur in his ear, and he closed his eyes, the smell of her perfume wafting in the air as she brushed her lips against his cheek. _We must be strong without your father._

 _What was in the Department of Mysteries?_ he'd asked, remembering the article in the paper, his hollow confusion at what Lucius had done.

 _Though Ministry spokeswizards have hitherto refused even to confirm the existence of a Hall of Prophecies, a growing number of the Wizarding community believe that the Death Eaters now serving sentences in Azkaban for trespass and attempted theft were, in fact, attempting to steal a prophecy._

A prophecy. What had he done?

 _Never you mind, Draco,_ his mother had urged, her voice hushed as she let her hand linger on his shoulder. At her touch, he stilled.

 _The child grew, and with every passing day, she matched the Queen in beauty, and endowed with the Queen's own power, she became in every sense a challenge; she was, then, the only one who could defeat the cruel and hateful Queen . . . the Chosen One._

The Chosen One; a prophecy.

They'd been so sure there was a prophecy, hadn't they? They'd said there was only _one_ who could rid the world of the Dark Lord; only _one_ , a _chosen_ one, as though the Fates had personally cared to weigh in. They'd been _so sure_ their fate was tied to a hero that they'd said _again and again_ it was him; they'd printed it in their papers, and they'd whispered it in their homes.

And then they'd cowered in their error.

 _When the time came that the child was of age, the Queen brought forth the entirety of her forces, threatening all those the child loved, and who looked to the child for hope. The child, being readied from birth to lead, and to sacrifice, took it upon herself to surrender to the mercy of the Queen, that others may be saved._

Draco closed his eyes, remembering the day.

 _He came to me,_ the Dark Lord had sneered, stepping foot into their hallowed halls. _He came to me, begging for his life. He was weak._

 _A fool_ , Draco had thought. _And here I was, a fool._

The luckiest fool.

 _You deserve strength,_ the Dark Lord had told his captive audience, and they were all too broken to respond.

Then, only months later, the Boy Who Lived, and Lived Again. How had he survived?

 _The Queen, then, called a huntsman, one that had always been loyal to her service - offering even his own child to the Queen. And the Queen, who believed the huntsman to be loyal, instructed him to take the child to the forest to be killed._

Something different in Granger's tone. Something in her eyes.

 _Offering even his own child to the Queen._ She'd looked right at him when she said it. There was something in there for him; something she was telling him, dangling before him, a prize for his cleverness, for his assiduous pursuit. _Claim it,_ her eyes said.

 _The huntsman told the young girl to flee, and he returned to the Queen with word that the child was dead. The huntsman knew that wild beasts may soon devour the girl, that the girl may still, in time, meet her bitter, tragic end - but he could not be held responsible for her life; could not cause her to suffer the way his own child might surely suffer._

Granger's eyes had been so telling. _You know who it is._

He took a breath, remembering.

 _Narcissa,_ Lucius had said angrily, yanking her aside. _They said he's been seen._

The panic in his voice. _You said he was dead, Narcissa. You said he was dead._

 _He was dead,_ she replied coldly, but her blue eyes were wide when they landed helplessly on Draco.

 _The huntsman could not be held responsible for the child's life; could not cause her to suffer the way his own child might surely suffer._

Draco sat up in bed, fighting bile as it angrily rose in his throat, simmering in his chest.

 _And so the girl remained alone in the forest; spared, and yet thrown out from all that she had known._

Narcissa had left Potter alive, hadn't she?

 _It doesn't have to be this way for you,_ Narcissa had said, coughing into her handkerchief and trying to hide the blood. _Just leave._

Narcissa, the huntsman; _she_ was the message Granger had left just for him, and it was torment, and torture, and sickening like nothing before, for how Draco must have failed her - how he had so devastatingly _failed_ her, trapped in the servitude she'd never wanted for him.

 _It doesn't have to be this way for you,_ Narcissa had said. _Just leave._

But of course he'd stayed.

Narcissa, the huntsman; she'd left Potter alive.

 _And yet she spoke into the wind - 'I will rise, I will rise'- and the Queen heard the whispers, and never slept well another night._

He nearly laughed at himself, at his utter foolishness. He'd asked what happened to the girl - to _Potter_ \- but how could Granger have answered?

 _I will rise, I will rise._

How telling.

 _I will rise, I will rise._

A phoenix from the ashes.

* * *

"He came to me," Voldemort said coldly, dementedly mirthful in his victory. "He came to me, begging for his life," he spat, and Hermione fought a violent shudder. "He was weak."

They'd wanted to speak, of course, to protest, but couldn't; they struggled against his control over their voices, over their bodies. Over their hopes.

"You deserve strength," he'd told them, and they were all too broken to respond. "I am that strength. _I_ am your Chosen One."

"I never liked that he used that phrase," Harry remarked, stepping beside her. "Rude to steal my title, really," he added. "As if killing me wasn't enough."

"Hush," Hermione croaked, not looking at him. "I'm trying to listen."

"Reliving it again," Harry noted, giving her a particularly pointed look of disapproval. "Probably not wise, Hermione."

"Shh," she said again, peering around for the things she hadn't caught the first time. Voldemort was scarily authoritative, seeming somehow taller, grander, more gilded in his victory; beside him, Bellatrix looked positively euphoric.

"Look at Narcissa," Harry instructed, pointing, and Hermione followed his gaze to the pale blonde witch where she stood beside her husband.

Lucius's eyes, like everyone's that day, were glued to the triumphant Lord, enraptured by his terrible awe, enthralled by his rapturous cruelty. His wife, though, was staring straight ahead, her eyes steadfastly fixed on something just behind Hermione.

"It's Draco," Hermione realized, turning over her shoulder to catch him staring blankly forward, his palms up in silent resignation; a weary surrender from an exhausted boy.

"Yes," Harry confirmed, turning to look. "She had asked me if he was in the castle."

"I wonder what she would have done if you'd said no," Hermione said, shivering at the thought. "I wonder how things might have been different."

"Hard to say," Harry returned, shrugging.

They swayed in heavy silence.

"What happened after you said yes?" Hermione asked, feeling a chill in the cool spring air.

"She told Voldemort I was dead," Harry said robotically, parroting the story for perhaps the hundredth time. "He chose to believe her. Not that I'm surprised," he added, though he seemed to sigh in spite of himself. "A pity I never got to thank her."

"You thanked her," Hermione reminded him. "In your own way."

"Not in a way she or Draco will ever realize, I'm sure," Harry said, grimacing. "But, in any case." He shrugged again, wearily dragging his fingers through his incurably messy hair. "Nothing I can do for her now."

Hermione nodded her sympathy. "And then?" she prompted, urging him to go on.

"A little _crucio_ to tenderize the meat," said Harry, his voice dripping with contempt. "And then he gave a rather chilling speech. Something cold and haunting about leaving me in the forest to rot, where I belonged."

"Wish I'd seen that," Hermione murmured. "Even though I know what happened, I wish I'd been there with you."

"You don't," Harry corrected her, his voice clipped and agitated. "I don't know that I've ever been more afraid than I was then."

"You went to him to die, and _living_ scared you?" Hermione echoed, smiling faintly.

"I didn't know what he would do," Harry reminded her, and going pale at the memory. "I knew he was coming for you and Ron, and everyone - " he paused. "And I couldn't think what to do."

She nodded. "We managed," she whispered reassuringly, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "We made it out, thanks to you."

He nodded absently, surveying the scene before them.

"Watch," Harry said, gesturing to where Neville struggled to his feet. "It's about to happen."

Neville had broken free of the crowd; he charged at Voldemort, all fury and fight, but was instantly redeposited in a heap, collapsing where he stood.

"None of that," Voldemort commanded. "None of this. Your battle is over. Harry Potter's battle is over, and I have won."

He wandered over to where Neville lay still and Hermione shrank against Harry, burying her face in his chest.

"I hate this part," she whispered, and Harry nodded, wrapping his arms around her.

When it had happened, she recalled, she'd been under the full extent of the body-bind curse, incapable of motion; she could feel nothing, accomplish nothing, rooted to the ground and yet adrift in her mind, broken beyond repair by the knowledge that _Harry was gone_ , he was _gone -_ and it had been a laughable blessing, a burdensome punishment, to discover she was still breathing.

Now, even knowing how it ended, she couldn't bear to watch Neville be tortured another time. The helplessness had been the worst of it; she hadn't even been sure, at the time, which paralysis was worse - Voldemort's curse, or the loss of Harry.

"Look, he's standing now," Harry said, nudging her. "He's coming to his feet."

She shifted in his arms to watch Neville rise, and heard herself gasp; that was how she'd noticed it, the first time, how she'd noticed that the spell had lifted. It was the pressure on her chest at her own shock, and then Ron's fingers around her wrist.

"Get out!" Ron shouted, pulling her away as chaos began to reign around them. "Get out of here, I'll meet you - "

It never became less absurd, not after all the times she'd replayed it. "Get out? _Get out?"_

"You know what they'll do if they find you!" he insisted, taking hold of her shoulders. "If they win, you know what they'll do to you!"

Ron had been full of fear; how had she been so numb?

"Come with me," she begged. "Come with me." _Harry's gone. You're all I have left._

He hesitated, looking around. "Hermione - "

"You're lucky nothing happened while you two dragged this out," Harry interrupted, standing in the space between them as she watched herself pleading with Ron.

"It's lucky I convinced him," Hermione reminded Harry. "It's lucky we were all able to get out."

There had been running and jostling and panting but somehow, _yes_ , they'd all gotten out. So had the Death Eaters, of course; but their own escape had seemed a blessing at the time, and they had all tasted a tiny drop of invincibility, cruelly sweet on their tongues, even with Harry gone.

"It felt like we beat him, in a way, even though we didn't," Hermione murmured, feeling the atmosphere shift as she relived the moments of running with Ron, dodging curses with their fingers tightly laced, refusing to part in the sea of people. "You'd died for us," she sighed, "so there was nothing he could do."

"Pity that couldn't last," Harry remarked, his eyes following the members of the Order who would later fall.

"There are only so many times you can cheat death," Hermione whispered.

Harry grunted his agreement.

"Should I leave?" he asked, realizing he was now with Hermione and Ron in the Burrow, his green eyes guarded as he watched them, holding each other as they shook in the waves of their trauma.

"No," Hermione said regrettably, remembering. "There was a sort of . . . wrongness to it, once you'd gone," she told him. "We never got it back."

He glanced at her. "Wrongness?"

"We loved you more than we loved each other," she admitted. "And then we couldn't look at each other without seeing you."

He nodded.

"Bummer," he declared, though she saw a smile twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Going to relive the next month, as well?"

"A month without you," she whispered. "No. It was terrible. It was a nightmare."

"A nightmare?" Harry asked, and then his face seemed to contort, his hair receding to bare skull, his eyes filling with a too-familiar snakelike loathing.

"Like this?" he asked, in Voldemort's voice.

And then she screamed, and steady arms appeared around her.

* * *

Draco heard her screaming and he ran, heart racing as he followed the sound of her pain, not stopping to question what he was doing until he saw her shaking and he threw the blankets aside and held her, fighting to contain her.

"You're okay," he muttered to her, her screams slowly ebbing to sobs. "You're okay."

He'd left her alone nearly the whole day, still not sure what to do with the girl who so badly needed nurturing; he wanted to assume she would come to him when she was ready, but maybe that was not the case. He didn't know. How could he have known? He'd never claimed to be a healer. He'd never claimed to know how to fix a broken thing.

She pulled away, pressing her fists against his chest, looking at him; her eyes widened, registering his presence, and then she reached up, touching a hand to his face.

It took all he had not to shiver at the coolness of her fingers as they slid across his lips.

"Just me," he told her.

She was tiny in his arms, too small. Frail and birdlike and fragile. The material under his fingers was rough, too coarse to press against her skin, and he winced, noticing the redness wherever the fabric gaped.

"We should clean you up," he suggested.

She looked fearful still, and so he gently - as gently as he could - shifted his arms, one behind her back, the other under her knees, and he carried her to the bathroom, trying not to think about the way she clung to his collar, her fingers like ice against his chest.

 _How could you not know_ , he thought again, still furious with Gosforth. Though surely it was better this way; how tragic, that she was better off forgotten. For all that she was and all that she'd done, her erasure had been her saving grace.

He kicked the door to the bathroom open, taking his frustration out on the wood, and walked to the bath, an ornate, claw-footed tub that he'd never used. He hardly wished for her to soak in her own misery, but a shower seemed ambitious; she looked unlikely to be able to manage to stand.

"Can you do this yourself?" he asked her. She'd yet to take her eyes from his face, squinting at him like she wasn't sure he was real. "I don't want to - " he grimaced. "You know."

She tilted her head, considering him.

 _You're Hermione Granger,_ he wanted to shout. _You don't need me, you don't need anyone, you've never needed anyone, what have they done to you?_

 _Where have you gone? What have you seen?_

No answer, and so he set her down gently on her feet, arms still around her ribcage, reaching for his wand in his pocket and waving it over the tap, filling the tub with warm water. She shifted clumsily from one foot to another, unaccustomed to standing; he sighed at her unsteadiness, knowing he was going to have to be an active participant in this. Whatever _this_ was.

Cleansing, he supposed.

"I'm going to close my eyes," he told her. "I'll keep my arm here to steady you, but I'm just going to help you in when you're ready."

She gave a tiny nod, and he squeezed his eyes shut, as he'd promised. He felt her slowly reach around to discard the rags she wore, eroding and falling as she shed them like an abhorrent second skin, landing at his feet. The process was slow but she seemed steadier with each item she removed, leaning into him for balance as she slipped one foot into the bath, wobbling as she made to enter; he provided her the leverage, his fingers pressing into her side as he nudged her upright, lowering carefully with her.

"Okay?" he asked.

No answer. He opened his eyes, charming the water to keep him honest, and nodded in satisfaction as she settled back, letting the water slide between her fingers.

He, then, settled himself on the floor beside the tub. "You had a nightmare," he told her, though that was a guess. _Just a dream_ , his mother cooed in his mind. _Just a dream, Draco, you're safe._

She looked at him.

"You're real, aren't you?" she asked, and he heard his heart thud in his ears at hearing her speak.

"Unfortunately," he said grimly. "Though sometimes I wish I weren't."

Foolish of him.

"Sorry." He shifted on the cold tile. _Selfish of me to compare my suffering of yours._

"She survived, you know. The girl," Granger said, letting her hands float over the surface of the water. "In the forest. Lived, even," she said thoughtfully, and he knew what she meant in the distinction.

His breath caught. "Are you going to tell me what happened to her?" he asked, his voice hoarse at the thought.

She looked at him carefully, and he saw a flash of her old self, her lips pursed slightly in thought.

"No," she said.

He suppressed a whimper of disappointment.

"Another story," she suggested, and he nodded, cursing his own desperation.

 _Tell me anything._

"Once upon a time," she said, leaning her head back. "There was a nobleman, a lord of small fortune but great stature, who, in the audacity of his goodness, acquired a hateful envy by a king, a pretender to the throne."

Potter again, surely.

"He took to the forest on account of the King's spite, and gathered himself a following, a band of merry creatures who, amidst the fire of his inspiration, encouraged chastity to the misfortunate, and incited rebellion against the tyranny of their overlord, the unworthy King."

 _That_ he certainly had done.

"In the forest he made his friends, others not of his kind, who were drawn to his spirit of compassion, and his kindness in the past. He was beloved by them, and aided, and from their loyalty, experienced a rebirth; a return to his people, after seeking sanctuary in the woods," she said, pulling her knees in, watching them with childlike fascination as they broke the surface of the water; pale, pointed peaks that broke the glassy plane. "He never abandoned them, and made himself a home; an outlaw, a chaotic good, he called his people to him, and he made for them a home, a beautiful shelter, wherein they might escape the King."

"He had more enemies than he could count, and only few true friends to speak of," Granger continued. "His love, of course, the spritely maiden, who never left his side; his second in command, the cautious one, but wise; his spirited accomplice, the fearless rogue. Together they were bound, at first, in secret; living in quiet solitude, wishing for better days."

"But sanctuary was not enough for the good outlaw; the King's reign of terror encroached upon their home, and rather than settle in the shadows, he called upon his friends, the occupants of the forest. There was more, he said, more world for them than this, and so their eyes turned outwards, their sights set upon the King."

"A band so bound by righteousness they were, finding meaning in their mischief; a life saved here, another there, until his presence could no longer be hidden. The King caught wind of his clever misdeeds, his noble crimes, and sent for him with a rage unfaltering; the clamor of the outlaw's name, which had once been spoken in whispers, throbbed to a collective roar."

"The King, in a desperate effort to lay claim to the good outlaw's head, prepared for him a trap; a lure of sorts, to draw him out of hiding," she went on. "But the good outlaw was no fool, and so he came disguised, and the King found himself the subject of the merry band's roguery, painted a fool by his own hubris, his many forces humiliated behind their masks."

"Wait," Draco gasped, stumbling forward. _A trap, a lure of sorts, to draw him out of hiding_. The flash of her golden brown eyes had been akin to a strike of lightning. "Wait - their masks - "

She looked at him, her brow furrowed, as though she had not expected the interruption; he tripped over his words, desperate for clarity as he realized he was straining towards her, half-suspended above the bath.

"Are you - are you saying that - "

"I think I'd like to get out now," she whispered, shivering as the water around her cooled.

* * *

Part of him looked as though he wished to yank her up and shake her, and she watched his hand twitch toward his wand; instinct, surely, after years in his position. But he slowly calmed, color returning to the paleness of his cheeks, and he nodded his strained agreement.

"Fine," he muttered, closing his eyes again as she stood, wrapping a towel around her shoulders.

"You're torturing him," Harry commented, after Draco eased her into some clothes; a soft t-shirt, some warm pants, a sense of humanity at last as the fabric settled against her skin.

"You're back," she noted frostily, brushing aside his assessment, and he gave her an apologetic half-smile.

"Sorry," he said. "It's _your_ mind, you know," he offered, shrugging. "You understand."

"Still. Not very nice," she told him, and he shook his head.

"No, it isn't," he agreed. "But I can't help what you remember."

She nodded.

"You changed the story again," Harry asserted coolly, sprawling out beside her. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"Of course," she lied. "I'm your cautious second-in-command, am I not?"

"And Ron my fearless rogue," he supplied, grinning. "Rather generous of you."

"I should think it fitting," she murmured. "Don't you?"

Harry fell silent.

"He would have liked it," he agreed, straightening after a moment, shoving away the pain. "What do you make of Draco's reaction?"

"Not sure," Hermione realized, frowning. "He might have recognized the story?"

"He might have been there," Harry reminded her. "He might have been part of it."

"Wouldn't we have known?" she asked, her mind filled for a moment with his pale, blinding glow.

His hair, his eyes; even under a mask, surely he would have been unmistakable.

"It was a messy day," Harry said, his expression thoughtful. "Maybe not."

"I was so sure he wasn't at any of the raids," she whispered. "And I always wondered why."

Harry didn't answer. She looked over at him.

"No thoughts?" she prompted.

"Not at the moment," he replied.

It was silent and strained between them.

"At least I'm not alone," she whispered, and he paused.

"Do you mean Draco?" he asked tentatively.

She let her fingers linger on the collar of his shirt, the smell of him surrounding her. Smoky and warm, citrusy and cool; masculine with a hint of sweetness.

"Maybe," she confessed, remembering the look on his face, the flash of hope in his grey eyes, steeled on hers like he could see in them a promise.

 _For she had never been blessed with certainty, but this, at least, was true: the light, like herself, was seeking the way out; and it longed, as she did, for more._

* * *

 **a/n:** Story inspiration: _The Day Boy and the Night Girl_ by George MacDonald, _Snow White and the Seven Dwarves_ by the Brothers Grimm, and _A Gest of Robyn Hode_ (Robin Hood). Dedicated to Evilmaiden, who, to my shock and amazement, read and reviewed nearly every chapter of my work in a matter of days; and of course, immeasurable thanks to everyone for reading.


	4. The Rightful Heir

**Chapter 4: The Rightful Heir**

 _The boy, raised as he was in the glory of the light, opened his eyes at the sunrise, and was never permitted to gaze upon darkness; for the monster wished him to be privileged and rich in the splendor of the sun, and monsters often get what they want. All day long the boy was made to bask in the caress of the light, stripped and laid bare in it until he came to rejoice in it, thinking himself meriting the blessing of its kiss._

 _But all children must grow, and the boy, even in the midst of beautifying light, would always feel his resolve turn to water in the presence of the monster; so when the time came that he was tested, the fire quickly doused from his eyes, the splendor shattered from his soul. He never saw the light the same way, for he had come to learn that where there was light, there was also shadow, and where there was shadow, he was beholden to darkness._

 _His venture into the dark had caused him to collapse within himself; his entire being eclipsed, it seemed, by his fear of the monster, and by his harrowing encounter with what he had not known of the world. He stumbled blindly in the darkness; abandoned, rendered unseeing and small without the light he'd grown accustomed to bearing; and he remained this way for what felt to him to be an eternity, imprisoned by the burden of his loss._

 _But in his panic he managed to fall upon some source, some glimmer of promise, and he collapsed wearily in its wake; he awoke with his gaze fixed upon a set of golden marvels above him, like a better sky, and they seemed for a moment to give him courage, and to assuage his terror._

" _A boy so steeped in sun," she murmured, reaching out for his hand, and only then did he realize that she was the brilliant light upon which he gazed. "Nevermind; I will be your eyes in the darkness, and teach you to see."_

* * *

Draco opened the door to find Theo leaning casually against the frame.

"Draco Malfoy," Theo purred pleasantly, his green eyes flashing as his lips curled into a punishing smirk. "Stolen any muggleborns lately?"

 _Fuck._

"This is a bad idea," Draco announced hastily, unable to prevent himself from looking over his shoulder to ensure that Granger was not in sight.

She wasn't, of course; she had yet to venture outside her room, despite his attempts to lure her. There was something incredibly agitating for him about her nearly catatonic state, knowing she could only speak to him in riddles; he brought her food, helped her bathe, and all the while stared expectantly at her, waiting for her to say something snotty, to broach something irksomely academic. Instead she only stared at him, wide-eyed, seeking something from him that he doubted he could offer.

Foolish of her, really, to think he had anything to contribute.

Spending time with Granger was like suffering flashbacks of a life he'd never lived, he'd come to realize. Perhaps he had convinced himself in some way that if she could be _her_ , then he could finally be _him_ , a person who had once existed, and might someday exist again. Perhaps he'd wished her to be a means by which to stop time, to re-route it.

Fuck. Maybe they both were fools.

"I'm shocked you still possess the ability to identify a bad idea," Theo said lazily, clipping Draco with his elbow as he strode into the entry hall.

Draco sighed, letting the door fall shut and crossing his arms over his chest.

"What do you want, Nott?" he asked, tight-lipped.

"Oh, we're doing this, then?" Theo asked facetiously, pausing in the hallway to turn and face Draco. "Pretending I don't know you've got Granger hostage in your house?"

Draco winced. "Hostage is a harsh word," he commented ambiguously, frowning.

"Ah, so we're also being gentle with semantics," Theo remarked, lifting an eyebrow. "You really have to warn me in advance when you need me to play at innocence," he added, smoothing his hair back for emphasis.

"I don't suppose you'd have done it if I'd asked," Draco said wryly.

"For you, I'd have at least managed to look more doe-eyed, I think," Theo replied, making a show of batting his dark lashes. "Better?"

Draco lifted an eyebrow, sighing. "If I say yes, will you leave?"

"No," Theo declared, pivoting abruptly to stride into the sitting room.

"Then you see my frustration," Draco called after him, emitting a brief grunt of irritation as he followed in Theo's wake. "Could you not wander my house, please?"

"Why, have you set her loose?" Theo asked, pausing to grin mercilessly at him. "She's not going to jump out and murder me, is she?"

"Frankly, if she did, it'd be a relief," Draco groaned inaudibly, striding past Theo. "Study," he offered, gesturing forward.

"Firewhiskey," Theo agreed firmly, nodding as he moved to follow. "Good call."

They walked in silence the remainder of the way to Draco's study, both of them settling into the comforting stillness that had always existed between them, the result of years of fraternal intimacy. Theo, like always, took a seat at the large, mostly vacant desk - a Black family heirloom - while Draco sat behind it, pulling two glasses and a bottle of firewhiskey from the top drawer.

"How much?" Draco asked, gesturing as he moved to point the lip of bottle against the glass.

"Depends," Theo determined ambivalently, shrugging. "How bad is it?"

Draco, in answer, kept his face expressionless as he began to pour, stopping only just before the liquid overflowed the contents of its container.

"Ah," Theo remarked, chuckling as he picked up the glass with difficulty before attempting an ungentlemanly slurp. "Understood," he said, closing his eyes as the liquid burned its way down his throat.

Draco poured himself a glass - a reasonable amount, as he'd already made his point - and settled back in his chair.

"So," Draco broached languidly. "What have you heard?"

"That you're at _least_ ten kinds of fucked," Theo replied casually, taking another sip. "You're lucky it was a couple of twats like Gosforth and Whiddon there and not Rowle or Mulciber," he added, giving Draco a pointed look.

"I'm aware," Draco muttered under his breath, grimacing. "Don't tell me you came here to demand an explanation," he remarked, louder, growling a little at the thought. "I'm still fairly exhausted from having it out with my father."

"Yes and no," Theo responded curtly. "On the one hand, using Granger to find Potter makes perfect sense, and it's the best lead anyone's had in months. _But_ ," he continued, his unnerving green eyes fixing disarmingly on Draco, "on the other hand, why is someone who has infamously spent the last few years quietly fading into the background suddenly showing up to commandeer his very own prisoner?"

Theo was grinning, but his amusement was guarded; there was something flashing in his eyes. Curiosity, Draco assumed, but potentially a glimmer of something darker.

Danger? No, not Theo.

Fear? Considering the lives they'd lived, Draco could never really rule out fear.

"Would you stop with the 'hostage' and the 'prisoner' thing?" Draco retorted, still evading answer as he wrinkled his nose in distaste. "It offends."

"Oh, my apologies," Theo drawled, leaning back in his chair. "Free to leave any time then, is she?"

Draco scowled. "Don't," he warned.

Theo's smile faded.

"We can play this fucking game all night if you want," Theo said quietly, his voice low and tipped with a hushed, ominous warning. "But I'm not leaving until I find out what you've done."

Draco opened his mouth to answer, but Theo cut him off.

"Don't lie to me," he interjected, and Draco flinched, knowing he couldn't deny it.

"I don't know," Draco murmured, lowering his eyes to his glass and watching the way the dim light of his study caught the crystal of the glass. "I don't know."

Theo stood abruptly, his knees knocking against the wood of the desk as he launched to his feet. "Yes you do," he grunted, and Draco heard the edge of emotion where it cut into his voice. "Don't give me that shit, Draco, you fucking _know_ \- "

"Theo," Draco warned, agitated by the other man's sudden pacing. "What the fuck do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me you didn't just waste _years_ of effort trying to blend in," Theo retorted sharply. "I want you to tell me you gave this half-a- _fucking_ -second of thought before you threw yourself back into this" - he cut himself off, his face twisting in bitter revulsion - "this _hellscape_ that he created - "

"And if I didn't?" Draco snapped, looking up from his glass. "What then, Nott?"

Theo paused his pacing, narrowing his eyes at Draco. "Don't."

Draco sighed. "Theo - "

"We were born at the forefront of this shit," Theo reminded him brusquely. "Cursed from birth, and we taught ourselves to hide." He threw himself moodily into the chair. "Do you honestly expect me to believe you're capable of forgetting that?"

It was a weighty accusation.

"No," Draco admitted gruffly, bringing his glass to his lips and taking a long, deliberate pull of firewhiskey.

They sat in silence for a moment.

 _Cursed from birth, and we taught ourselves to hide._

He remembered Theo's hand on his shoulder, that day at Narcissa's funeral. _Makes you wonder what they thought they were doing with us._

The Nott heir, the Malfoy heir; they'd never had a choice, had they?

 _Cursed from birth, and we taught ourselves to hide._

"Has she said anything?" Theo asked tightly, picking up his near empty glass and fiddling with it. "Have you gotten anything?"

Draco hesitated. "It's not like that."

"Tell me, then," Theo invited, leaning back in the chair. "Tell me what it's like."

* * *

"He's talking to someone," Harry remarked, eyes narrowing slightly as he strained to listen. "Also," he broached delicately, "why am I shirtless?"

Hermione stifled a laugh, eyeing him against the backdrop of the Forbidden Forest.

"No real reason," she said, fighting a smile. "I wasn't there for this part."

"I can assure you, I wore a shirt," Harry declared loftily, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. "I only lived _with_ the centaurs after he tried to kill me, I didn't _become_ one."

"Let me have my fun," she urged, grinning. "I have so little of it these days."

"Fine," he sighed. "Take it all in, Hermione," he mumbled, and she laughed. "Though in the interest of accuracy, I really must remind you that this whole forest occupation didn't start well," Harry informed her, grimacing. "They didn't quite take to me at first."

"They didn't?" Hermione asked, though she knew as much. There was a reason Firenze had not been able to return to his herd after agreeing to teach Divination. To work for humans was a murderous calling in centaur culture.

"No," Harry confirmed. "The whole 'Chosen One' thing really came in handy, in the end." He shivered a little, though Hermione was quite sure it wasn't from cold. "They saw the destruction, you know," Harry added. "From their vantage point, I wasn't such a bad alternative."

"Destruction from the Battle, you mean?" Hermione asked faintly.

"Not really," Harry said, cocking his head slightly. "They were more distracted by the things we could never have foreseen." He looked up, taking in the sky through the canopy of the trees. "Mars is bright tonight," he informed her, gesturing upwards.

Hermione looked up, frowning. "No it isn't."

"Ah, I don't know," Harry confessed, tossing her an impish grin. "They just seemed to like when I said that."

She smiled. "If only Professor Sinistra knew how badly she'd failed you."

He hummed his agreement, still smiling, and she moved to stand beside him, feeling momentarily at peace as she gazed into the night sky.

"They never told me what they saw," Harry remarked after a moment, his eyes still on the stars. "They were sworn not to 'set themselves against the heavens,' as Bane informed me." He grimaced. " _Several_ times."

"They're seers," Hermione reminded him. "Not informers."

"Still," Harry said, catching her eye. "You'd think they could spare some stray _seeing_ to help humanity, or something."

"Oh hush," Hermione said, shaking her head wearily with feigned impatience. "They did a lot for you. For us."

Harry nodded, but the cheeky grin slowly faded from his features.

"He's talking to someone," he reminded her, and with a jolt she realized she had never been in the forest; she was in bed, and she was warm, and Draco was somewhere outside her door, his voice low and quiet.

"Yes," she said carefully. "Do you recognize the voice?"

"I think so," he said, reaching again for recognition. "Don't you?"

The nod of an elegant, dark head danced across her consciousness. _Granger,_ he said stiffly, quieter than the others.

"Theodore Nott," she whispered, and Harry nodded his agreement.

* * *

"Stories," Theo echoed, frowning. "Like what?"

"One about a looking glass," Draco replied, straining to remember the words. _I will rise, I will rise._ "Another about an outlaw of some kind. A 'chaotic good,' she said."

"And you think this means something?" Theo asked, his expression guarded. He wasn't openly skeptical, but he clearly wasn't convinced, either.

"It does," Draco said firmly. _It has to._

"What has she said?"

"Some things I don't understand yet," Draco confessed, brow furrowed as he mindlessly traced the edges of the glass. "Something about being marked as the Dark Lord's equal. A prophecy." He looked up. " _The_ prophecy, if I'm right."

"My father said that was just a rumor," Theo said, and then immediately snorted with mocking laughter. "But he was always a liar."

Draco made a noncommittal sound, and they shared a wordless, conspiratorial glance.

 _Fathers,_ they agreed, shrugging.

"She knows something about my mother," Draco added softly. "Granger knows my mother let Potter live."

"Fuck." Theo looked pained; he remembered as well as Draco did. _You said he was dead, Narcissa. Narcissa, you said he was dead!_

Theo pushed his glass in front of Draco, gesturing to it. "More."

"I didn't think it was possible to feel worse," Draco remarked, refilling Theo's glass and passing it back to him. "But I do."

"Can't," Theo said shortly, raising his glass to his lips. "Shouldn't."

"And yet, I do," Draco replied smartly, biting the inside of his cheek. "Might have gotten away from all this if I'd known," he added, softer. "If I'd understood what she did."

"Gotten away?" Theo laughed, a sharp, biting echo that rattled around the sparsely decorated room. "Narcissa said that, you know, but she was - " he paused, waving his hand around. "Hopeful." _Impractical_. "Optimistic."

 _Stupid._

"True," Draco said, the word getting momentarily trapped in the confines of the glass. "Lucius would never have allowed it."

"Lucius is living his dream life," Theo pronounced grimly. "Got just what he wanted with the Dark Lord in charge."

"Power," Draco agreed. "Authority." He tipped his head back, letting the last contents of his glass slip back against his throat. "The ability to bully muggles."

"Say what you will about the Dark Lord, but he kept his word," Theo said drily, his lips curling in disgust. "No more secrecy, just like he'd promised."

"But no explanation, either," Draco remarked, grimacing. "Just fucking unbridled fear, permitted to flood."

"Contained at the hand of the Malfoys," Theo mused. "Lord Malfoy's only flaw - his ungrateful son," he mocked, toasting Draco.

" _Worthless_ son," Draco added, smiling at little at his own self-deprecation as he poured himself another glass.

"Ah, but not anymore," Theo countered, offering him a sly grin. "Isn't that what Granger's for?"

Draco's smile faded. "You know it's not," he said softly.

* * *

"What do you think he wants from you?" Harry asked again, and Hermione burrowed further in the blankets.

"Answers," she replied, her voice muffled.

"But why?" Harry pressed. "Do you think he would use them against you?"

"Maybe," she admitted, though from the shifting in her chest, she could tell she wasn't convinced. Instinctively, she was quite sure there was more. "You know as well as I do he hasn't had an easy go of it."

"It's lucky for him that Death Eaters stopped having to do the dirty work a long time ago," Harry commented. "Not since after - " he paused. "You know."

 _Luna, this is a terrible idea -_

 _Oh, but it really isn't, is it?_

Her pretty, dreamy eyes had been wide and vacant, until they weren't. And then they were sharp and hungry, cold as she looked upon her prey.

"It was such a good plan," Hermione whispered. _A trap, a lure of sorts, to draw him out of hiding._ "She was so much more tactical than I ever gave her credit for."

 _The good outlaw was no fool._

"And it worked," Harry reminded her. "It worked. He stopped using Death Eaters after that."

 _The good outlaw was no fool, and so he came disguised, and the King found himself the subject of the merry band's roguery, painted a fool by his own hubris, his many forces humiliated behind their masks._

"Right," Hermione said faintly, shutting her eyes tightly. "He just came after us one by one."

"Remember when we used to fear the masks?" Harry asked, and she could sense his quickened heartbeat. "Do you remember?"

"Stupid of us," she said, grimacing. "Snatchers were worse."

* * *

They were sprawled on the floor, the bottle empty.

"The Ministry," Theo hiccuped. "Lovegood." His hand knocked against Draco's forehead. "That day. The worst."

Draco groaned. "She said it," he remembered. _A trap, a lure of sorts, to draw him out of hiding._ "It's - she's - "

"Granger?" Theo slurred, lifting his head. "She was there?"

"She was there," Draco confirmed, eyes closed. "She - didn't see me."

" _What_ ," Theo shouted, his voice clanging in the space between them. " _How_ \- "

Draco rolled onto his hands and knees, slowly lifting himself to crawl over to Theo, palming his face to shush him. "Quiet," Draco warned, his face warm and elastic. "You'll - you'll wake - her."

Theo curled into a ball, as though decreasing his size would effectively decrease his volume. "How did she know?" he demanded, his voice a half-hushed accusation. "If she - didn't - "

"She's telling the truth," Draco whispered. "I know - because - I was there."

Theo let out a whimper. "But if she was there - "

 _If she was there, if she was really there, if what she's saying is true, if everything is true, if Granger's fucking real, if her mind is here, if everything is here, here in this house, upstairs, locked in her brain, her brilliant, infuriating brain - what happened?_

 _Where is everyone?_

 _What happened, what happened, what happened?_

"I'm - I have to - " Draco stumbled to his feet. "Go home," he commanded, nudging Theo's shoulder with his toe. "Go home, I have to - see her - "

"Fuck you," Theo growled, but he reluctantly sat up, squinting. "Turn the light down," he said.

"I can't," Draco mumbled. "I have to talk to Granger."

"Fine," Theo sighed, pulling himself up using the seat of a vintage mahogany chair, lurching forward and then catching himself, his head lolling to the side. "Floo, shall I?" he suggested primly, as though he had not just nearly fallen spectacularly onto his elegant face.

"Don't apparate," Draco warned, attempting to blink away his haze as he stumbled to the door. "You'll be splinched for - " he knocked his shoulder against the doorframe, misjudging its dimensions. "For _sure_."

"Wait," Theo said, reaching for Draco's arm. "Draco - "

"What?" Draco asked, patting Theo's head fondly.

"Don't - fuck around," Theo warned, tripping on some nonexistent obstacle. "With Granger." He pointed his finger in Draco's face, nudging it into the blond's angled cheekbones. "Don't - get yourself - " he swayed, stumbled, then leaned back into Draco - "killed."

"Mm," Draco agreed, nodding gravely. "Go home."

Theo waved, heading to the fireplace; Draco waited for the purposeful sound of "Nott Manor" - "Elbows in," Draco advised at a shout, as though this were Theo's first day on earth - and the subsequent telling _poof_ of vacancy before making his way up the stairs, opening the door to Granger's room.

"Granger," he whispered, stumbling in the dark. From the dim light seeping in from the hallway, he could see her lying still in bed, her back to him.

 _She's got that mark they all have._

 _The one they found on the others? The phoenix?_

 _On her back._

Draco inhaled sharply, fighting not to think about it.

"Granger," he said again, louder, and she shifted, the golden glow of her eyes finding him in the dark.

She said nothing.

"You have to tell me everything," he commanded bossily, climbing wearily onto the bed and falling onto his back, collapsing on top of the duvet. He turned his head, looking at her. "Tell me - _everything_ that happened."

She looked at him, her face expressionless.

"Ready," he said, nudging her lightly with his elbow. "Go."

He squinted at her. She stared back.

"You have to," he informed her. "It's - important, Granger."

 _What happened, what happened, what happened?_

"Tell me."

She shifted onto her side, propping her head up and looking at him.

"No," she said quietly.

He sighed, closing his eyes.

"We're going to die," he decided, nodding firmly. "I told Theo I wouldn't - but - "

"You think?" she asked, her voice still soft.

"I'm going - to get myself killed," Draco said, and then he laughed. "Sorry," he told her.

She looked at him.

"Once upon a time," she said, her voice sweeping gently through his mind in a steady, rhythmic cadence, "there was a king. A rightful heir."

"Fucking Potter," Draco muttered, groaning petulantly.

"He was not born to live a man's life, but to be the stuff of future memory," she continued, ignoring him. "He possessed a circle of knights, loyal to him, and to his realm, and so the fellowship that he created was a brief beginning. A fair time, never to be forgotten."

She reached out, brushing his hair away from his face. He sighed at her touch.

"And because it will never be forgotten," she whispered, "that fair time may come again. And so the king must once more ride with his knights to defend what was, and to dream." Her own voice was dreamy and lost. "To dream of what could be. To inspire," she added, more emphatically this time. "So that one day, he might exist again."

 _The stuff of future memory._

"Granger," he mumbled. "Is he alive?"

He almost didn't hear her answer.

"I don't know," she whispered, and he reached out, grasping her fingers and holding them to his chest.

* * *

She watched over him until he fell asleep.

"He's drunk," Harry commented, lifting an eyebrow.

"Hardly a crime," Hermione murmured, shrugging. "Remember the night we got the phoenix tattoos?"

"Only pieces of it," Harry replied, grinning. "Point made."

She smiled in spite of herself.

" _To defend what was_ ," Harry remarked, quoting her as she continued to watch the steady rise and fall of Draco's chest. "Sounds like you're giving him hope."

"Maybe," she permitted.

"Be careful," Harry warned, not for the first time, and likely not the last. "He's right, you know." He grimaced. "You could easily end up dead if you don't play this right."

"Title of my memoir," she murmured under her breath. "Nothing's changed, Harry," she told him, louder, turning over her shoulder to face him. "I continue to be aware of the danger I'm in."

"Well, take what you think the danger is and double it," Harry determined, frowning. "I'm sure he had to make a deal of some kind to get you here," he reminded her, his green eyes sharp with warning.

"I'm sure he did," she agreed coolly. "And I've not given him anything he can use."

Harry's face twisted skeptically.

"Then what are you going to do when your usefulness runs out, or falls short?" Harry asked, and she felt suddenly cornered by his doubt. "Or worse - you've told him I might be alive," he pointed out. "What if he finds me?"

She heard the real question. _What will he do if he finds me first?_

"I'll figure something out," she said.

"You'd better," Harry replied, and she turned, looking at Draco again.

He was peaceful in his sleep. More peaceful than she'd seen him so far.

"Maybe I can tell him what's already happened," she ventured after a moment. "Surely I can tell him everything that already came to pass."

"Well. You know where to start."

She shuddered at the new voice.

"Harry?" she asked, but it wasn't. She knew it wasn't.

She shifted away from Draco, reluctantly coming face to face with Ron.

"I'm not ready yet," she told him softly.

"You never will be," Ron replied, his blue eyes the coldest she had ever seen them.

* * *

In the morning, Draco thought he'd dreamed it.

" _A boy so steeped in sun," she murmured, reaching out for his hand, and only then did he realize that she was the brilliant light upon which he gazed. "Nevermind; I will be your eyes in the darkness, and teach you to see."_

* * *

 **a/n:** Additional inspiration this chapter from the legend of King Arthur. Sorry about the delay, but I forgot to mention I would be gone last week for a wedding (and extensive wedding-related travel). A reminder: if you are ever curious about where I am and/or what I am doing (read: why I haven't updated), you can find me at olivieblake dot tumblr dot com. That's usually where I alert people when I am falling behind, and also where I post things like updates, Epistles 2.0 with Dr. Sally, and the upcoming Live Drunk Epilogue Rewrite (long story).


	5. The Giant Killer

**Chapter 5: The Giant Killer**

 _The girl, denied the privilege of the light, saw nothing but the dark, though stars shone in her eyes. The monster spared a care to break her, only long enough to sentence her destruction; to feed the flame by which she burned, but he afforded no witness to her collapse. And so, in his inattention, he did not see that in the cracks, she only shone brighter, a savage beauty amidst the ashes of the night._

 _In the wretchedness of his ambivalence the monster did not know, then; did not see; that in the girl's careful ventures towards the light she had befriended the creatures in the dark, calling them to her, clutching them to the warmth of her breast. Denied the privilege of the day she had learned to see light in the depths of blackness; and thus, should she catch a shadow, she breathed a hopeful sigh, knowing that near her there was light._

" _It is so horribly dark," the boy whispered to her as he lay collapsed in her arms, a lost soul without the splendor of the sun. While he lay in fear, she comforted him, though in the abhorrence of his cowardice, her comfort only added to the insult of his shame. "This darkness creeps into me, seeping into my skin and my thoughts - if only the sun would rise," he sighed. "If only the sun would rise."_

 _But she, who herself had risen triumphant in the slimness of her sight, could still see glory in the dark._

* * *

Draco stumbled into the kitchen, trying not to think of the pounding of his head, or the way he'd woken up that morning, curled around her, her hand still lying softly where he'd clutched it to his chest.

Then he stubbed his toe on the corner of the table and promptly forgot, swearing loudly, fumbling about in the darkness for something - _anything_ \- to conjure into coffee. Hangover potion could be made quickly enough, if he could simply summon the concentration by which to make it.

She would want breakfast, too.

Inaccurate, actually; she would _not_ want breakfast, she wouldn't want to eat at all, but he would insist on it. He'd had to do the same with Narcissa, and was strangely accustomed to the practice. He no longer had use for a house elf - which was an unexpected blessing in the end, as this house was not paired with one - and preferred, now, to do certain things himself.

He'd taken to preparing the food himself while his mother was sick, as she was wont to refuse it from a servant, or anyone; but she would never deny him a spare ounce of effort. She'd eat out of affection; she lived as long as she did out of love for him.

His heart pounded, or his head; it was all the same after a while, and he grimaced in pain.

He forced himself to swallow the entire volume of a large glass of water and leaned heavily against the sink, feeling the liquid expand into the hollow expanse of his stomach, groaning as it sloshed about.

Her hand was so small in his.

"Draco."

Draco lurched forward, feeling the contents of his stomach gurgle threateningly.

"Father?" he guessed, squinting at the fireplace at the far end of the kitchen.

Lucius's head poked out of the fire, his immaculately groomed head making him look as elegant as Draco, still in the previous evening's clothes, appeared completely disheveled.

"When I said constant updates, was I unclear?" Lucius's head prompted, as Draco dragged a stool to the fireplace and took a seat, feverishly blinking to clear his still-spinning head. "Did a sudden wave of incompetence come over you, or was I simply speaking in tongues?"

 _Must have been the tongues, Father, as you so willingly seem to believe my incompetence is a constant and, thus, hardly subject to tides -_

"I was just sitting down to write you a letter," Draco lied, swallowing his retort. "But it seems, as ever, you have been the quicker draw."

"Much to my displeasure," Lucius sniffed, his grey eyes narrowing. "So?" he prodded, and Draco pressed his fingers to his throbbing temple; his father's agitation was vociferous, and thus, as painful as it was unwelcome. "What have you to say for yourself?"

"Um." Draco leaned forward, battling a wave of nausea. "I - "

"You were drinking," Lucius determined flatly, giving him a penetrating look of disapproval.

"Theo came over last night," Draco returned wearily. "Just a drink and conversation."

"Theo," Lucius scoffed, as though the name were derision enough on its own. "I suppose you've broken the mudblood, then?" he added casually, though Draco knew his father's rhythms well enough to know the sentiment was headed for sarcasm, and invariably for scorn. "Had a drink to celebrate, I imagine," he drawled regally, "for whyever else would your frivolity take precedence over your duty?"

Lucius bore a smirk so irritatingly mocking that Draco half wished to drag him out of the fireplace by his ears, yanking him by that long ponytail he prized so much -

"Granger cannot be broken in a single night," Draco said grimly, careful to keep his expression stiffly ambivalent. "Else there would be no need to bring her here, don't you think?"

Lucius gave a small toss of his head, a stallion's motion of impatience. "You play coy, Draco, but you forget yourself," Lucius warned. "I expect a sincere answer. And a useful one," he added, his eyes flashing in the embers of the fire.

"If Granger were easily broken, she would have been already," Draco replied. "She needs to trust me."

"Why would she?" Lucius snapped.

 _Because I owe her my life,_ Draco did not say. _Because I am indebted to her, and thus, she will know to trust me,_ he did not explain.

"She has no choice," he said flatly, which was true enough. "She will arrive at that conclusion shortly, I am sure of it."

Another truth.

"And in the meantime?" Lucius pressed irritably. "Surely you are not fool enough to - "

"I am not a fool, Father, no," Draco interjected, feeling a flush rise in his cheeks at the ongoing mockery. "She has said things already," he added. "And I am not, as you seem to think, entirely directionless - "

"What has she said?" Lucius posed sharply, a silvery brow arched high. "Does she mention the Order? Does she speak of Potter?"

Draco hesitated, remembering that not everyone would find value in her nonsensical ramblings. He bowed his head. "I - "

 _The stuff of future memory._

 _To dream, to inspire, so that one day, he might exist again._

He recalled his fearful question in the dark. _Granger, is he alive?_

Her whisper, lost and haunted. _I don't know._

She feared for him. She would not fear for a lost cause.

"Potter," Draco realized, his heart beginning to thud in his chest. "He's alive, he must be - "

"Does she speak of him?" Lucius questioned, and his eyes glinted with cruel, elated mania. "Does she mention knowledge of him? How do you know?"

"I know," Draco said slowly. "She doesn't know where he is, but - " he paused, sucking in a sharp breath of reassurance. "But she believes him alive," he resolved quietly, more to himself than his father. "I know she does."

Lucius's perverse excitement faded.

"You know nothing, then," Lucius determined, his expression hardening. "You rely on what, exactly?" He gave a harsh laugh. "Your intuition?"

"If I were, my faith would not be misplaced," Draco spat fiercely. _You are the last Malfoy, Draco, the last great Black,_ Narcissa murmured to him. _You are not to be disrespected. You are not to be pushed aside, not by anyone._

"She knows where Potter has been," Draco added. _I will rise, I will rise._ "She knows where he hid, where he went when things - "

 _Ended._

" - changed," he offered, treading carefully.

"So?" Lucius intoned dubiously.

"So - Potter's no god, no folk hero. He's a man, and men go back to their roots," Draco asserted, nodding, his head suddenly clear of its merciless pounding. "Wherever he was, he's gone back there, and I'll find it." Draco nodded again, surer this time, squaring his shoulders in challenge. "I'll find _him_."

Lucius looked for a moment like he might press the issue, but Draco knew that he would not. Draco knew his own features well enough to know that he was stunningly his father's son, but for the first time in his life, he felt endowed with the unquestionable certainty of his inheritance from his mother.

Perhaps his eyes were not as blue as hers, but Narcissa's glacial certainty glinted in them.

Perhaps his mouth was not as full, but it was set with her signature calculation.

Draco knew it must be astounding, and he knew it would be silencing, because for a moment he wore Narcissa's ghost on his face. His father's face.

Temporarily, he knew.

"Fine," Lucius said after a moment, and Draco watched him swallow his opposition at the flash of his wife in his son's eyes. "But you had better not be wrong."

He was gone long before Draco opened his mouth to speak.

* * *

"You look good," Hermione commented, walking through their old familiar camp.

"You look shit," Ron replied, grinning. "But I expect you know that."

She waved him off. "I always looked shit," she reminded him. "Life in the forest never really afforded the height of beauty."

"Nah," he said, still smiling, his blue eyes slightly warmed, a blessed reprieve from the spectral chill her memory had assigned to them. "You were always beautiful."

She cast her eyes aside, pretending to study a tree.

"So why you?" she asked, attempting gracelessly to change the subject. "Why start with you? Your story wasn't first."

"You wound," Ron informed her, giving her a sharp jab to the ribs with his elbow. "Chronologically, no - but I set things in motion, didn't I?"

"You _would_ want credit for that," she pronounced glumly, pausing to take his face in her hands. "You fearless rogue," she whispered, smiling as she looked at him.

"It's not all bad," Ron reminded her, gripping her wrists. "Remember, rescuing Luna?"

"And Dean," Hermione agreed.

"We plucked them from danger!" Ron declared, stepping away to beat his fist against his chest, a primal hero. "The Golden Trio."

He caught her off guard, and she found herself enfeebled by the old moniker. Her knees nearly buckled.

"Don't call us that," Hermione told him, wincing. "You - "

She paused, flinching at the pain in her chest.

"I what?" Ron prompted, stepping back towards her and lifting her chin to meet her eyes; she, though, looked quickly away.

"You weren't there when they used that against us," Hermione said, blinking back stinging, painful tears of shame, of anguish; of regret. "You weren't there when they turned that phrase around on us."

He didn't look saddened, like he should have. He looked wistful, almost like he was sorry he missed it; perhaps that was the flaw in remaining his age.

Eternal youth. What a crushing blessing, an abominable curse.

"Well, don't start with that," he instructed briskly, thrusting his shoulders back. "Obviously. Don't open with that."

It was an absurd response and she shook her head, half laughing at him. "Why not open with Luna, then? Or Dean?" she prompted, unable to help a smile in his presence. "One of our merry rescues?"

"You should tell those stories too, eventually," Ron agreed, nodding enthusiastically. "But Harry - he's the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, and I never got to be anything - so tell him," he urged.

"Tell him," Ron said again, his eyes glinting greedily. "Tell him how I took down a giant."

* * *

Draco paced outside her room, a bowl of broth in his hand, some bread and water levitating beside him. The floor creaked under his feet as he meandered back and forth at the top of the stairs, wondering how to begin. It had only been a few days, after all. They'd hardly established a schedule, the two of them, or any kind of timeline; nor had she ever given him any indication of when or if she needed anything.

She accepted what he offered but asked for nothing, and he resented her for it. He wondered if he might be happier about it, about the duplicitous way he was tasked, if she would just make even _one single demand_. If she would only stand up to him, rail against him, demand he pay her what she was owed - her life for his, in the end - instead of half existing, a solemn, quiet spirit who haunted his house.

As if he didn't have enough ghosts.

He set himself to the task of entering, tossing his shoulders back - _the last Malfoy, the last great Black -_ and burst in, careful to look busy. Distant. Unfazed.

But of course he took two steps inside and saw her watching him and he knew she remembered, he knew she was thinking about her hand in his, clutched against his chest; she was recalling that he had curled himself around her, and she was not fooled by his unsuccessful pretense.

Hermione fucking Granger, beaten down and half herself, but never fucking fooled.

"Hi," he said irritably, and predictably, she said nothing.

"Food," he offered, setting the soup down on the nightstand beside the bed and flicking his wand to bring the bread and beverage closer. She nodded.

 _I see that,_ he imagined her saying ambivalently, and he nearly growled in frustration.

"Hungry?" he asked, his voice rough. She nodded again, though she looked away from him.

He felt at once a rush of annoyance at her silence and turned to leave, though he paused at the door, his hand gripping the wooden frame.

"You should talk to me," he informed her, and he turned over his shoulder to look, to make certain her eyes were on him.

They were.

"We should learn this," he grunted, using one hand to gesture to the space between them. "For your sake," he added brusquely, as though he were not, in fact, very, very desperate for his own.

She looked at him curiously, and he heard her intentions so clearly that he wondered with a start if he were not already learning.

 _Is that so,_ she seemed to say, somewhat coolly.

"You don't trust me," he supplied.

She made no effort to deny it, instead tilting her head slightly.

 _I'm listening_.

"You should," he informed her bluntly. "Trust me, I mean. You have no one else."

She looked away.

 _True._

"You can't leave," he reminded her. "I've set the blood wards. And even if I die - "

She stiffened, sensing the accusation.

"Without me," he continued, glad she'd caught the reference, but not feeling the need to delve into unnecessary gore, "you face much worse than any threat I can pose, outside these doors."

She bit her lip slowly, bringing her knees towards her; as she curled protectively around herself, he remembered the feel of being close to her, and cursed himself vigorously for it.

"I won't ask if you understand," he told her sharply, his tone belying the agitation that he wondered if she could see. "I know you do."

She looked for a moment as though she would nod dumbly once more, but instead she leaned over, picking up a spare piece of bread and offering it to him.

"Hungry?" she asked softly.

He felt a sharp pain of protest in his chest.

"I brought that for you," he reminded her. "You need to eat."

"There's two," she told him, as though he were not aware, as though he had not taken care to curate the meal for her. She raised one piece to her lips, taking a bite, and held out the other to him.

He sighed, stepping forward to sit beside her on the bed.

"Thanks," he said glumly, accepting it. He recognized that in whatever language they were speaking, whatever culture they were designing, this was not an offer he could comfortably refuse; and so he took a bite, feeling the softness of the bread against his tongue.

She seemed pleased at the company, though her eyes became vacant and thoughtful, and when she looked at him again, it was with a strange consideration, a scrutiny she hadn't possessed only a moment earlier.

"Once," she said softly, "there was a poor, young boy who lived with his family."

He felt himself relax at the sound of her voice.

"But there were too many mouths to feed, and no gold," she said, "and so the boy, the youngest of his brothers, grew without the blessing of favor, and without the sheen of privilege."

Draco frowned, swallowing his mouthful of bread and replacing it on the plate. He watched her do the same, setting it down delicately, and then turning back to face him.

 _Not Potter,_ he thought, frowning.

"Go on," he prompted warily.

"The boy was marked a fool," she said grimly. "He was less favored, considered beneath the others of his siblings; but he possessed something that none of his brothers had, for in his kindness he befriended a traveling prince, one who, unbeknownst to the boy, was thought to someday save their kingdom, from destitution and from ruin." She let out a small, girlish sigh; a sigh of nostalgia, Draco realized, and of fondness. "He was beloved by the prince above all others, for the boy saw the prince for who he was, even while the prince was yet himself a beggar in disguise; and he bestowed upon the boy a gift. His trust, firstly," she said, suddenly adamant about this, and Draco tucked it aside for later, "as well as a handful of magic beans, which caused a magnificent beanstalk to grow, a triumph begging to be explored."

She stopped abruptly, pausing to take a sip of water, and Draco's heart pounded in his chest as he considered that she may stop there, that the story may end _yet again_ -

"The next morning," she continued, and he nearly wept with relief, "the boy and the prince climbed the beanstalk, knowing not what they would find, but only that together they would surely know adventure, and in the warmth of their friendship, they bestowed upon each other a brotherly faith." She paused. "Though the boy had brothers enough," she remarked, smirking for a moment.

Draco swallowed, his throat suddenly quite dry.

"At the top of the beanstalk was a castle, one of signature enormity, and the boy and the prince were startled to find riches beyond their imagination, and treasures beyond their dreams," she murmured. "At first, out of caution, they returned down the beanstalk, but upon the advice of the boy's eldest brother, they later returned, determined to plunder the castle, and by doing so, make their fortune, and win the prince back his kingdom."

"They did not know the occupants of the beanstalk were giants," she whispered, and there was something in her eyes, something so hopeless that Draco felt sorry for her, and pained. "They did not know that the giants would come for them, for blood; but when they did, the prince and the boy were cunning, and in their sprightly mischief they defeated the giants, taking their gold and running down the beanstalk back to the village, and back to safety."

"The riches that the boy acquired should have been enough, but tales soon spread far and wide of his bravery, of the boy, who had once been so minimally blessed with favor, and he began to urge the prince for more adventure," she continued, seeming to shrink somehow, to withdraw towards herself. "The boy, who had tasted fearlessness and learned to long for it, to prove himself, was encouraged by his brothers, and then a single giant was not enough," she said quietly. "He went after other giants, larger and more powerful each time, until - "

She broke off, and he could see she couldn't go on.

"Don't tell me the end," he whispered to her, taking her arm and pulling her into him; to his surprise she gave in, leaning into his touch, burying her face against his neck.

"He killed a giant," she told him, her voice soft and sweet in his ear. "He killed a giant, and he paid. He paid for it."

Draco felt his face lose color.

"It was Weasley," he finally said, though he'd known already, and she looked up, her golden brown eyes filled with tears.

And then it all came back to him, crashing over his head, and he drowned in it.

* * *

 _She remembered Ron was gleeful, until the day Nott Sr. fell, and the warrant was signed. Ron had laughed his cheerful laugh each time they managed to make a fool of another Death Eater, but then they'd aimed too high._

" _I told you," she railed against Bill. "I told you this would happen, I told you not to make them into symbols for your cause - "_

 _She spat it at him. I don't care you lost your wife. I don't care she was taken from you. Look what you would have taken from me._

 _Look what you would take from me._

 _He gripped her shoulders. "It's not my cause," he said, his voice deathly quiet, his teeth gritted; so tall, so strong, so much more man than she knew what to do with. "This isn't just about - "_

 _He swallowed before he said her name. Hermione never heard him say it again._

" _This is war," he said. This is war, you silly girl, you self-righteous princess._

" _You made your own brother a target," she seethed. "How could you? How dare you?"_

" _He made himself a target," Bill reminded her harshly. "We all made ourselves targets, long before today, long before he killed a man."_

" _But - "_

 _He had looked as though he might slap her, but he spoke instead._

" _Protect him," Bill said, and it felt like a slap, especially when she failed._

* * *

Draco released her quickly, stepping away from her and backing against the wall, burying his face in his hands, and she wondered how responsible he was; if he felt the loss, or if he suffered it.

"No . . . no, he didn't - "

"You don't get to grieve," she told him, finding her voice suddenly harsh and unforgiving. "You don't get to grieve for him - "

He was gasping now, clutching at his collar, struggling to breathe. "I couldn't - there was nothing I could do - "

She crossed the room and walked to him, her footsteps slow and solemn, like a ghost, like a funeral procession, like a threat, like a dream. She was thin still, too thin, and his clothes hung off her frame, and she knew her sharp angles were glinting in the dim light.

"You don't get to grieve," she said again, and his breath caught as she reached out, gripping his waist, pressing her fingers into his hips, meaning to draw pain, to draw strength from him, to draw it out of him. She dug her nails into the wiry threads of his muscle and she watched him grit his teeth, making certain in his limitless pride that he was not powerless under her touch.

"Why," he said hoarsely, though he gripped her back just as fiercely, just as painfully. "Why don't I?"

She gave him a bleak, hard smile. "Because he would have laughed in your face," she told him.

She saw his vulnerability, felt it under her fingers. She remembered Bill's coldness and she thought _I could do it. I could kiss him, I could take him, and I could make him mine._

 _I told you I'd think of something,_ she imagined telling Harry, when he no doubt showed his face again. _You said I'd outlast my usefulness but you were wrong, you don't know what he needs, you don't know what he wants -_

But then his arms were around her, and she let out a gasp. _Sorrow._

And then a sob. _Grief._

And then he held her while she cried, for the friend she lost, and the love, and for her innocence; and she hated him and she needed him, and it was terrible and terrifying, and all of it at once.

"I'm sorry," he told her, and she felt his lips against her hair. "I wish it had ended there."

 _But it didn't,_ she wanted to tell him. _Not even close._

She pulled back to look at him, at his gilded face and his pale, illuminating glow, and she felt for the briefest instant that she might be dragged out from her trauma, and that she might pull him with her, too.

 _I wish it had ended there._

 _I wish the sun would rise._

 _But she, who herself had risen triumphant in the slimness of her sight, could still see glory in the dark._

* * *

 **a/n:** Inspiration from the English fairytale _Jack and the Beanstalk_. Late again, apologies; sometimes I need to steep for longer, but still aiming to increase in update frequency. Dedicated to cool bnr!


	6. The Den of Thieves

**Chapter 6: The Den of Thieves**

 _Darkness had befallen him, and yet the world expected him to remain as glorified as he had been in the day; and it made him weary, and weakened, and for a time he was sapped of his strength. Alas, he thought - in the dark, one can never see where danger might be coming; one may never know whether they may be torn in pieces, and carried off or swallowed up! He felt a spell had been cast upon him, that he would be so unprepared and shamed in his lack of fortitude; he had been bold as a thunderbolt in the daylight where there was nothing to fear, and yet reduced to shaking hands whenever darkness encroached on his sight._

 _But just as he had learned that the day does not last forever, he came to find that neither, then, does the night; for all eyes, if wisdom wills them, can adjust over time to the dark. Only one thing carried any hope for him, enfeebled as he was: the resolve to force his way through the dark in earnest, once he knew something of what it was made of. To encounter it head on - to know danger, but not defeat - would be to triumph over darkness, and to meet his fate - fearless and cool, his destiny held tight in his fist - would be to redraw the stars by which he lived._

 _He resolved to know the darkness, just as he resolved to know the night girl as his guide; for in the absence of his will, she had been his refuge; and when he spoke of darkness, her eyes glimmered to bring him light._

* * *

 _ **2001**_

* * *

Draco walked into the room slowly, knowing there was something off from the moment he entered. There was something inexplicably _wrong_ about the energy of the house.

"Theo," he said quietly, looking for him. "Theo, you said - "

"I'm here."

His voice had an intangible fragility to it, an impending crack.

"Theo."

Draco saw him rise then, saw him with his hand curled around his mouth; Theo Nott with his slender frame and his laughing eyes, half broken and pale. _Wrong, wrong, wrong._

"Draco - "

The sound was wretched; strained.

Draco's breath hitched and he paused mid-step. "What happened."

"Draco, I - "

At Draco's hand on his shoulder Theo's face crumpled, his shoulders bowing forward as he shook with soundless sobs. No tears; just gasps, like his lungs were failing.

"He - he was - "

"Where is he?" Draco asked sharply, forcing a dry swallow as he looked around the darkened room. _What has he done to you now?_ "Did he leave?"

Theo lowered his hands from his face, his posture suddenly limp. "No," he whispered, and Draco's stomach lurched expectantly.

No other sound in the house. _No one else in the house -_

"Theo, what happened?"

"I only meant to stun him," Theo whispered, his eyes wild, his voice hoarse. "He - it was the same as usual, he was going to - "

A lifetime of fear, of hidden scars and open violence, revealed itself in a whimper. "And then - I - "

Draco shut his eyes; squeezed them shut. Wondered if he could freeze time just to prevent Theo from saying it.

"Self defense," Draco managed after a moment, choking a little on the words. "You don't have to say more, we'll just - whatever you did - it was self defense - "

"I only meant to stun him but the words came out wrong," Theo said haltingly, and his face twisted helplessly, the traces of mischief carved out and replaced with pain. _Devastation,_ Draco thought. _This is what it looks like._ "I was - I was just so - _fucking_ sick of it, of everything - and then - "

"What words?" Draco asked, but he knew. How many times had he thought he might have to use them himself?

Draco could tell by the look of pain on Theo's face that his grasp on his best friend's shoulder had tightened, but the strength of Draco's grip would be the least of Theo's concerns; Draco's mind whirred through the dearth of options, meeting blockage after blockage as he tried desperately to configure a solution.

There wouldn't be a trial; the Dark Lord cared little for the value of human life but he did care greatly about _order_. About authority. He cared about his own power, his control over his troops; patricide by one of his own - without his permission - would not sit well with him.

 _Where could they go?_ Draco's head spun. No more Narcissa. No sympathy in Lucius.

"Let me see him," Draco said finally.

Theo lurched forward, swaying briefly, then led Draco to his father's study. The belly of the beast, as Draco had always considered it.

Draco took one look at the glassy-eyed body on the floor and turned away, his chest churning with dread.

"Give me your wand," Draco ordered, clearing his throat as the command came out a whisper. "Give it to me."

Theo obeyed. This was their dynamic; when panic struck, Draco took charge.

He took Theo's wand in hand and time stopped for a moment before he snapped it in half, feeling the magic in it drain from his fingers.

"You weren't here," Draco informed him. "You had nothing to do with this."

Theo's brow furrowed. "Fuck, Draco - "

But Draco was fidgeting, pacing around the room. "Where does your father keep things?" he asked. "Gold? Heirlooms?"

"Here," Theo managed weakly, gesturing. "In this room."

Draco nodded. "Good," he muttered, beginning to pace the floor. He walked over to the shelves that lined the room, peering at the crevices between them. "Does this open?"

"Yes," Theo said.

Draco turned back to face him, feeling pieces of something mad start to compile in his mind. "You can open them?"

Theo never wavered; when panic struck for them, it never struck for long. "Yes."

"Open it," Draco instructed. "Your vault, or whatever this is. Take out some gold and put it in your father's hand, in his pockets - something."

The atmosphere in the room had changed. They had still been boys when they walked in; not anymore. Theo strode forward, stepping over his father's body, his green eyes suddenly cold.

"Who did it?" he asked, his tone as conversational as if he were asking about the weather. "Who killed my father, Draco?"

Draco's lips formed a thin, grim line. "Who else?" he asked, his eyes flicking to the copy of the Daily Prophet that was laying on Nott Sr's desk.

 _Sacred Twenty Eight Break-Ins Reported; Pureblood Families Advised to Seek Out Intensive Security Measures_

"The Order of the Phoenix," he murmured, and Theo nodded his assent.

* * *

 _ **2005 (Present)**_

* * *

Draco launched forward in bed, panting.

It seemed nightmares were contagious in this house, he thought, clutching his chest and rubbing at his cold, clammy skin. He was damp with sweat and he tore away what remained of the sheets on the bed, resolving to throw himself in the shower and blink away the memory of what he'd so resolutely - and successfully, too, _for so many years_ \- shoved aside.

The threat of legilimency was pervasive. He'd had no choice but to make the memory disappear. Its return was deeply unwelcome.

He stripped off his boxer briefs, kicking them to the side and starting the shower; he didn't wait for the water to warm. It seemed more appropriate to sting.

Her face floated to mind; cruelly, he thought. He'd told her the truth, hadn't he?

 _I couldn't - there was nothing I could do -_

That was the truth, wasn't it?

 _You don't get to grieve for him -_

She was right, but she didn't know; she _couldn't_ have known, could she?

Would she have been able to look him in the eye if she did?

He slicked his hair back with both hands and tilted his face up, suffering the beads of cold water that bore down against his skin.

She wasn't good for him, he thought dully.

He hadn't thought about that night in years; by necessity, he'd pushed it out of his mind long ago. He and Theo never even discussed it, once everything had -

Once everything had fallen apart, they didn't look back. They couldn't. See all that darkness, live through all that horror, and still continue to breathe? It seemed impossible.

He thought of Weasley and choked.

It seemed _unjust._

She was bringing everything back. He'd wanted to know where she was, what she'd been doing, what had happened to everyone; he wanted to possess the last remnants of the world they used to live in. He hadn't realized he would have to relive his own torment first.

He shut the water off, shivering.

He hadn't had a choice. There was nothing he could do. Nott Sr had always been abusive; he was worse when he became partial employer in addition to horrifically substandard father. Didn't matter whether Theo was ten years old or twenty; Draco had always secretly wondered whether one day Theodore the elder might wind up dead. Every time Draco stepped into Nott Manor late at night, the result of a hastily scrawled owl from Theo, he wondered if he would step on a body. Sometimes, seeing the welts and the bruises on the only brother he had - hearing the retching and the rage - Draco wondered if it would even be at his own hand.

But it was fitting, in the end, that Theo had held the wand that did it. Draco was a coward, after all. Hatred doesn't make a brave man; only an angry one.

Theo would have been killed for it. Draco knew it. They both knew it; that was the way of the world now. An eye for an eye. A Nott for a Nott.

 _There was nothing I could do._

He hadn't lied to her.

Her.

There were moments when she looked at him and he didn't see either version of her; he couldn't see the swotty teenager or the traumatized captive. Instead there was a coldness, a vacancy where her warmth had been, where her insecurity had been; the flush in her cheeks when he mocked her seemed so many lives away. Her fingers had embedded themselves in his hips, bearing down on him, and he had thought in a moment of breathlessness: _this is a woman._ Not a girl.

 _This is a woman, and someone made her cold._

He thought the girl he'd known had come back to haunt him; he was wrong. He'd buried his face in her hair - _sorrow -_ held her shaking shoulders while she sobbed - _grief -_ and all the while suffered a warning pain in his chest, a pang that echoed through the depths of him.

She wasn't there to haunt him. But if he let her, she could very well destroy him.

* * *

"He didn't take it well."

Hermione looked up from where she sat at the edge of their camp. "Hi," she said, feeling a smile of relief stretch pleasantly across her face. "You're back."

"I am," Harry asserted, grinning at her as he threw himself down beside her, leaning back onto his elbows. "I don't like to leave you alone for too long."

"Oh yeah?" she asked, chewing her lip. She shifted over, letting her pinky graze his as she mirrored his languid pose.

"Of course." He tossed her an impish look of skepticism, pushing his glasses further up on his nose. "I'm keeping you alive, after all."

"You _were_ keeping me alive," she corrected, thinking of the many times her eyes would drift shut, when she thought she might succumb to an altogether perilous sleep. "Not sure it's as effective now."

He gave her a very roguish smirk. "Should I leave, then?"

She sighed, picking up a pebble and tossing it aimlessly. The prospect of him leaving was unpleasant. "No."

"I thought as much," Harry said smugly. He looked around, moving to lean against her shoulder. "Why here?"

"I liked it here," Hermione said wistfully, looking up. She could see the familiar placement of tents in a circle, all of them together. All of them safe. "The campsite with everyone. It was better than being on the run."

"It was only a different version of being on the run," Harry corrected her, and she sighed again.

"At least we were together," she reminded him.

Harry nodded. "That we were." He tilted his head, humming in thought. "Though I have to say, this was a confusing time for me."

"After we got Luna, you mean?" she asked, though she knew; he gave her a look, and she ducked her head, hiding her devilish smile.

"I really thought things were going to work with Ginny," Harry reminded her. "And maybe they would have, if she hadn't been forced to go back to Hogwarts."

Pureblood daughter of blood traitors; Ginevra Weasley had had the worst of both worlds. Among the privileged, but eyed with marked suspicion; a year of absence, and still too closely watched after that.

"Timing's a bitch," Hermione pronounced grimly, and Harry looked alarmed for a moment, but then laughed.

"Are you - "

" - quoting Ginny?" Hermione supplied. "Yes I am. But," she added, remembering the softening in Ginny's eyes when she'd seen them, "I think eventually she understood." She gave Harry a long, searching glance. "It was impossible to be around you and Luna and not understand. Even for Ginny."

"It's funny," Harry commented, his eyes drifting to where Luna had slept. _Better under the stars, don't you think?_ "They could not have been more different, but loving them felt the same." He looked thoughtful; nostalgic. Hermione envied him. "Like I had no choice in the matter."

She shoved her misgivings aside; not everything was about her.

"I imagine one does not have much of a choice when falling for Luna," Hermione said, though she couldn't help making a face. "She grew on me, but - " she shrugged, letting the sentence trail off unfinished.

"You never were one for whimsy," Harry remarked, nudging her fondly with his shoulder.

"I like things to make sense," Hermione reminded him, vaguely aware that she had raised her chin somewhat haughtily in the assertion. "And it took me about a hundred years to sift through what she actually believed versus what was just a clever way of softening the blow of" - she waved her hand around, gesturing evasively - "you know. Whatever hard truth she was delivering."

"Calling her clever?" Harry prompted, and for a moment she vigorously wished to wipe the satisfied look from his face. Forcefully, if necessary. "A compliment of the highest degree, coming from you."

She didn't. Let him have his satisfaction.

"I know," Hermione permitted, grimacing. "But you really did make her much more tolerable. And anyway, I missed her while we were on the run," she added, softening at the thought. "She was sort of . . . comforting."

"She was," Harry agreed. "And calming."

Hermione laughed aloud at that; a barking laugh, that shook her shoulders and startled Harry. "Calming?" she sniffed, tossing in a delicate snort of disagreement. "Hardly. When things started with you - "

"She slapped me," Harry remembered, grinning. "I was angry, and about to do something stupid, and then - "

"She walked right up to you and slapped you."

Harry's smile melted to a detestable, syrupy look of affection. "Yes," he said, nodding. "And then I kissed her."

"And then you kissed her," Hermione agreed, smirking, "and I groaned out loud."

"Quite loud," Harry said, shaking his head. "Offensively loud, some might say."

"Hardly," Hermione sniffed again. "And I adjusted quickly."

"True," Harry said graciously, "though, in fairness to me, I should remind you that you really can't help who you love."

He looked over at her; she pointedly looked away.

"Isn't that how it was with Bill?" Harry asked. It was the inevitable question that she'd been hoping so fervently to avoid.

She leaned forward, pulling her knees to her chest. "It wasn't love with Bill."

 _Not for him, anyway._

There was a shuffle behind her, a change in the air, and then suddenly she was enveloped by a pair of strong arms, the familiar woodsy, smoky scent wafting around her nose as she took a breath, stiffening against his chest. They were arms she recognized.

Arms she dreaded.

"No," she whispered, though she knew that wouldn't work. It never did. It might have, maybe, if she'd ever managed to say it with any conviction, but she'd never really meant it.

"You don't want me?"

His voice was cool and steady in her ear.

"You never wanted me," she reminded him, and she gasped as he came to his feet, yanking her up with him, spinning her around to face him.

The jut of his cheekbones, the deep slashes of scars across his face; the haunted vacancy in his eyes that would flicker momentarily when they met hers. Still there.

"You know that's not true," Bill said.

She heard herself sob, saw herself in torment. _He was supposed to be safe,_ she raged. _You were supposed to keep him safe - you made his life a publicity stunt -_

 _And where were you?_

His voice, angry and distant. He was always angry without Fleur; though, in truth, that had been half the appeal.

 _Where were you, Hermione?_

 _Don't turn this around on me,_ she spat. She was grieving; they both were. She found his lips in her anger; she met his hips in her grief. _I was here, doing the job you gave me, I trusted you, I thought you knew what you were doing -_

 _I lost my brother and my wife, you lost -_

She'd wanted to throttle him for that. _Don't demean what he was to me!_

He was no less furious. _How dare you think that I don't suffer?_

How dare she? _We're all pawns to you -_

"You know that's not true," Bill said again, and she looked up at him, at the dark blue of his eyes.

"You wouldn't have chosen me," she reminded him. "I wasn't what you really wanted."

"Yeah, well." He grimaced. "Timing's a bitch."

 _And so is fate,_ she thought.

"I don't want to think about you," she informed him primly, straightening and letting her gaze travel elsewhere. "We just fed off our pain. Whatever this was" - she waved at the space between them - "it was toxic."

"You're being cruel," he told her, chucking her chin up to force her to look him in the eye. He was always manhandling her.

 _Funny you should say that._

"You taught me how," she whispered, her breath ghosting dangerously across his lips.

Something flared up in his eyes again - it was always there, that something; that fury that fed him, that kept him going, that he transferred to her every night - and she shuddered.

"I certainly made you selfish," he said, releasing her chin and scowling.

The scowl wasn't his - the _scowl_ was -

She felt her chest ache as Bill's hardened expression morphed into mischief; his blue eyes melted, warming her even as she felt a chill. His nose was longer, he was lankier; he was juvenile in stature, not so elegantly built, and his skin was pale and freckled and smooth.

"Ron," she murmured.

"You're avoiding me," Ron noted sullenly, crossing his arms over his chest.

She sighed, licking salt from her lips. "Remind me," she said. "Tell me again how it happened."

* * *

She was crying when Draco came in; he stiffened, fighting the inadvisable impulse to reach for her.

"Ehem," he muttered quietly, and she looked up, startled.

"You're crying," he informed her, flicking his wand to set the tray of food down beside the bed.

She gave him a dizzied, blanched look. _I know that, you idiot._

He huffed at the implied insult. "I'm just saying that - "

Her sudden motion interrupted him. She struggled out of the duvet and rose up on her knees; in the dim lighting of the room she looked like a ghost floating towards him, and he struggled not to stumble backwards at the sight.

"You're real," she murmured, reaching a hand out. She looked like she was reminding himself. _Tells herself stories, I guess. Talks to a hallucination._

He took her hand, imagining he could crush it. Knowing he would not.

"Unfortunately," he sighed, and as she moved to settle herself on the bed, he swayed towards her, compelled by something other than the physical strength she so obviously lacked.

She looked at him for a long time before she spoke.

"Did you ever think this would be us?" she asked.

He knew what she meant; not _us_ the unit - two people together, barely functioning, housed in the same fortress of longing and regret. She meant _us_ , the individuals who made up _us,_ the children they used to be; the forgotten castoffs they were now.

"No," he told her honestly. _Somehow I always thought you'd win._

She averted her gaze, eyeing her hands; he settled in, knowing what was coming.

"Once, there was a poor man, who was a man of genuine intent, and blessed indeed by fortune," she said, and he felt himself lean towards her, drifting into the soothing snare of her voice. "He, a man of humble origins, was kissed by luck herself. He stumbled upon a group of thieves, of common, violent criminals, all of whom had a secret: that they kept their treasures hidden in a place no man but they could find."

"The thieves, in their carelessness, entrusted their words to the wind; the poor man learned then of a password which would permit him entry, and when the thieves had gone, he snuck into their cave, discreetly taking only what he could carry." She took a deep breath. " _Only_ what he needed."

She was pained; her ache was creeping into her words.

"But time and triumph made the thief bold, and he began to take more and more, and what first had been need became pride, and the pride became poisonous greed. As his hubris grew, his cunning waned, and then the poor man - now quite rich - was caught," she said, her mouth twitching with disappointment. "But still," she permitted grimly, "some cleverness remained."

"One day, in his visit to the den of thieves, he discovered within the cave a body lying dead, and rather than take it as a warning, he took it instead as a sign; a means by which to further his own wishes," she said, and Draco's blood ran cold, flooding him with a frosty, chilling dread. "For he had learned that these thieves from which he stole were not wise men, nor good, nor virtuous; he hoped to expose them for their crimes, and wished to take their treasures for himself."

 _Common, violent criminals._ Incredible how she contorted their roles.

"He mistook the ill-virtued thieves for fools; he did not predict the fire of their wrath, nor their capacity for vengeance. They set upon him a trap, that they might lure him into their web, with the aim to kill him, and thus, to right all wrongs.

"An eye for an eye," she whispered.

He swallowed. _A Nott for a Nott._

No. He'd made sure that didn't happen.

 _A Weasley for a Nott._

* * *

" _It was self defense," Ron insisted, but there was something off in the way he hadn't met her eye. "He came at me, and so I - "_

" _You didn't," she shouted, but nobody would listen._

" _He didn't," she yelled at Bill. "I know him, Bill, I know he didn't kill Nott - "_

" _We're showing people we're still strong," Bill cut in evasively, not even bothering to meet her eyes. "We're lighting a fire under You-Know-Who. We're telling him we're a serious threat."_

" _We?"_

 _She was breathless with anger; relentless with outrage. "This isn't a team effort, Bill, this is Ron, this is on Ron's head - " she swallowed hard. "Have you heard what they're saying? What they're threatening?"_

 _Bill looked up, his face drawn and tired. "Why would he lie, Hermione?"_

" _Because you told him to!" she cried desperately. "Because you're - "_

 _He stood up quickly, facing her. Too close to her, and she gasped. He heard it._

" _A pity they won't be able to prove it," he muttered, trapping his fingers in her hair._

* * *

Draco's face was pale; she reached out, laying her palm against his cheek, her fingers brushing his jaw, smoothing back his hair.

"Tell him I'm sorry," she whispered. "Tell Nott I'm sorry."

* * *

Theo looked up as Draco strode into the room.

The same room. It was hard not to think of the feeling in the air all those years ago; the way he'd known something was wrong.

"Draco," Theo said, confused. "What - "

"We have blood on our hands," Draco said simply.

A pause; Theo considered him.

"Ah," Theo murmured, as Draco knew he would. "So she knows?"

Draco said nothing.

"Well." Theo stood, coming to Draco's side. "What do you want to do about it?"

Draco fidgeted with his hands. "We have to find Potter."

Silence. Not a surprise, but not a simple feat, either.

"Has she told you where?" Theo asked, a kinder phrase than _how the fuck do you propose we do that, Draco?_

"Where it started?" Draco guessed, then grimaced. "Where it ended," he added under his breath.

"Ah," Theo said again. Clever Theo. Observant Theo. Theo, worth ten of his gloriously martyred father. "So - "

"Hogwarts," Draco finished, and Theo nodded.

"We have blood on our hands," Theo repeated softly. The phrase held meaning for him this time.

Draco's turn to nod.

"Time to get clean," Draco sighed.

He was thinking of her palm on his cheek.

In the end, maybe she would absolve him.

 _He resolved to know the darkness, just as he resolved to know the night girl as his guide; for in the absence of his will, she had been his refuge; and when he spoke of darkness, her eyes glimmered to bring him light._

* * *

 **a/n:** Story inspiration from Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, one of the tales in _Arabian Nights_. Dedicated to Gaeleria - is there a baby yet?


	7. The Curse of Fortune

**Chapter 7: The Curse of Fortune**

 _For one who was born in and made from the dark, the night girl's will was as resolute as her eyes were bright; but despite her narrow escape, despite the mettle in her bones, she could only carry the day boy so much. It seemed, for a time, that they stood in the midst of an unknown land, neither of them able to move a step; each supported only by the weakness of the other; each ready to fall if the other were to collapse, or be subjected to fear. But where weakness was balanced, so, too, was strength, and after a time, the day boy was revived; in the promise of the night girl's tenacity, he grew brighter in his lightness._

 _In the same instance, the night girl grew frightened of the sting, of the suffering, as the depths of the dark seemed too poisonous to bear upon return; though she had tended to the day boy, and guided him, and propped him up with the unyielding stiffness of her nerve, she found herself a child in his arms, her head lying on his shoulder._

 _But for all that her strength was sapped, she rose; indeed, she triumphed, and between her and the boy, she was the greater. For she had suffered more; and for her suffering, she feared nothing._

* * *

"So," Harry broached carefully, sidling next to Hermione as she eyed their camp, shielding her face from the sun with the flat of her hand. "He came home late last night."

"Hm?" she asked indistinctly, not taking her eyes off where Ron and Bill were plotting, heads together. "I hadn't noticed."

"Lies," Harry determined, smirking. "He normally stays with you longer."

"Is this some kind of intimation, Harry?" she asked, pursing her lips. "You know I prefer you not to be so coy."

"Ah, you take the fun out of everything," he sighed. "And yes, I'm 'intimating' that perhaps your hold over him is not as firm as you might have thought."

She looked away, casting her eyes to the ground, blinking away the image of Draco's face.

"He is . . . one of them," she reminded him, trying not to squirm at the jolting implication; the swarms of masked faces. "He may have tasks I don't know about."

"Perhaps you should ask," Harry suggested.

She grimaced.

"I seem to have constructed you badly this time," she murmured, lifting her chin to look him in the eye. "You sound too much like me."

"Well, memories fade," he commented reassuringly, undeterred. "Can't blame yourself."

"I most certainly _can_ blame myself," Hermione retorted, a little disgruntled by the suggestion. "I can, and I will. And I do," she added, punctuating the point by turning back to where Bill and Ron sat deep in conversation.

Harry sighed. "You've been fixating," he pointed out after a moment, gesturing with his chin to them. "Why?"

"You know why," she reminded him.

He channeled his skepticism into a half-hearted shrug. "You blame him still," Harry postulated. "For what happened?"

"Haven't you been listening?" Hermione snapped. "I blame myself. For this," she added, swallowing as she watched Bill lean conspiratorially towards his younger brother, "and for not interfering sooner."

"You would have been met with quite a bit of resistance," Harry reminded her firmly. "Everyone was caught up in it. In the idea of exposing the Death Eaters, and showing everyone what we were capable of."

Hermione made a face. _Showing everyone what we were capable of._ "Those are Bill's words," she recognized, flinching. "Everyone was parroting them," she added scornfully, "like he was suddenly - "

"Of course you can say this now," Harry interrupted. "But at the time - "

"At the time, I was busy," she supplied, her teeth gritted at the thought that she had ever considered something - _anything_ \- to be more important than her friend's life. "Running this camp. Trying to strategize," she added, laughing humorlessly.

"Which you did flawlessly," Harry insisted. "It was a sanctuary, you know. A home. And it only worked because of you."

"I have somewhat of a knack for providing order," Hermione permitted, though she found herself a bit sulky at the concept that _that_ was her deeply unimpressive gift. "Inherent bossiness and all that," she sighed.

"You thought of everything," Harry argued, and she recognized the awe in his voice as being real. He'd said as much before. Second-in-command, wasn't she? He was the charisma, he was the sword; but she was the gavel. "You gave us a plan, you gave us order - "

"A side effect of having to organize people so many times," she remarked. "S.P.E.W., Dumbledore's Army - "

"You were busy," Harry summarized curtly, bringing them back to the point. "You were keeping people safe. Keeping them in line."

"Yes, and where did that all go?" she asked grimly. "After the Ministry - "

"That was after," Harry cut in firmly. "Stay here."

"Here," she echoed. "In the now?"

"In _this_ now, anyway," he said, though he spared her a somewhat darkened grimace. "You owe it to Ron, don't you think?"

She looked up, wondering for a moment how he could ask her that.

"Not fair," she murmured. "Not fair."

She closed her eyes, heard a soft rustle beside her, and then she knew Bill was there; she could tell by the way the air had shifted. She could tell by the tension in her neck. By the brush of his hand on her lower back, drifting up her spine; hopeless, tormenting. His touch grazed lightly over her skin, like his fingers themselves were sighing.

"Ron didn't kill Nott," Hermione said, swallowing. "I knew he didn't."

"I'm aware," Bill muttered, sweeping her hair over one shoulder to place his lips next to her ear. "You made an unpleasant fuss."

"He must have just _found_ the body, didn't he?" Hermione whispered, letting her head loll back as Bill's lips traveled to her neck. "When he was in the house." Her eyes fluttered open. "I had chosen Nott Manor for him, hadn't I?"

"It was one of many accessible homes, thanks to your handy work of cracking blood wards," Bill agreed, and she felt his chin dig into her shoulder as he nodded. "Who knew blood chemistry was so easily manipulated?" he chuckled to himself.

"Purebloods," Hermione murmured, as Bill's hands shifted from her waist to her abdomen, teasing the lip of her trousers. "The problem with purity is that it's so easy to recreate."

"A stroke of genius," Bill said, grazing her shoulder with his teeth. "I knew you were special, you know," he said quietly, "but after that - "

The rest of the sentence melted into her skin and she looking up, watching Ron pull the cloak over himself and Harry; she watched them disappear as she had done countless times. Watched herself calling after them - _only what we need!_

"He came to you in private," Hermione said, recalling the night. She'd been exhausted, bent over something that now seemed unimportant. Rationing things, probably. They trusted her to be fair; she was, because it would never occur to her not to be. Checking the Daily Prophet, maybe. Directing them, like always. "He spoke to you alone."

"The original Order was all but wiped out," Bill said, shrugging. "You were all quite eager to elect me your source of wisdom." His voice was tiptoeing a line of rare hesitation; almost like he wished to add - _but you shouldn't have._ "Only my parents were left, and they were so closely watched - "

"We trusted you," she cut in wryly, an echo of regret tinting the statement. _But we shouldn't have._

He spun her around, catching her wrists and bracing them against her chest.

"What would you have done?" he asked, nearly begging in desperation. "What would you have had me do?"

She was silent for a moment, letting him pull her into his arms. He held her like they were dancing, adrift in a melancholy waltz, and she couldn't summon the energy to fight him.

"Why Ron?" she asked instead, not knowing how to answer him. "Why was he the one to take the - " _fall_. "Credit?"

"Harry, the Chosen One, cast an _Avada_?" Bill countered dubiously. "You know why, Hermione." His name on her lips made her shiver; she fought it. "Harry was the beacon. So Ron had to be the teeth."

She nodded soberly. "I never brought it up to Harry," she said. "I didn't want to force him to relive it, but - "

"Surely there would have been no benefit to asking," Bill said distastefully. "Your need for answers wouldn't have been worth his grief."

"Right," she sighed, "but - "

"You remember the letter, don't you?" he asked.

She did. How could she forget?

 _Your ivory towers won't last._

"I remember the story you crafted," she replied.

 _You cling to righteousness of blood, but in the end, don't you still bleed?_

"Self defense," he reminded her.

 _No crime can go unpaid forever._

"Self defense," she repeated mechanically.

 _What you do in life will follow you._

"They were supposed to recognize us as a threat."

 _It will haunt you._

"Didn't they?"

 _We will haunt you._

"Not one worth bargaining with."

 _Take this as a promise._

"You should have known," she whispered.

 _Make peace with your abuses, or we will do it for you._

"I think I did."

 _P.S._

 _Yes, fucker. We always rise._

* * *

" _There's someone in the house," Theo said, straightening. He paused, his head tilted as he focused on the intrusion. "There's someone here."_

" _All the other Notts are - " Draco stopped, grimacing at his choice of words. "You're the only one, aren't you?"_

" _Yes," Theo replied uneasily. His lips were pressed in a thin, distinctly somber line._

" _The Order's been getting past blood wards," Draco reminded him, though the timing would be more than coincidental; fortuitous, really, and just when he had thought himself long abandoned by luck. He was a little breathless at the thought. "It could easily be - "_

 _Theo grabbed his wrist. "Come on."_

 _He apparated them downstairs, casting a quick disillusionment charm; Theo's specialty. He had, after all, always been exceptional at being invisible._

 _There was a voice in another room._

" _Think anyone's home?"_

 _Draco's eyes widened in alarm; he glanced at Theo. "Potter?" he mouthed, recognizing the timbre._

 _Theo nodded. The muscle twitched around his jaw._

" _Doubtful. Bloody hard to tell, though. Magnificent arses, these rich pricks. Houses so bloody big." A scoff. "Study, yeah?"_

 _Draco's breath caught. Beside him, Theo stiffened._

" _Seems to be a habit." A lightly cleared throat. "Mulciber, Yaxley, Rowle - "_

" _All kept their vaults in the same place. This floor, you reckon?"_

" _Hermione found the floorplans. In a museum, if you can believe that. Famous architect, I guess. The study's down the hall."_

 _Their footsteps echoed as they wandered through the house. Theo grabbed Draco again, disapparating a second time and landing them softly behind the desk in the study just as Weasley and Potter wrenched open the door._

 _Or would have, if they were not also somehow invisible; Draco squinted to catch a glimpse of their feet as they padded softly inside. Cloak, presumably, he determined, still not sure whether to breathe._

" _Fuck." Potter's voice._

 _Theo's eyes dropped to the floor._

" _Harry, fucking - bloody hell, what - "_

" _This is Nott, isn't it?"_

 _Potter threw off the cloak, his face wretched with shock. Theo's own face twisted at the sight of it, a reflection of his misdeeds._

" _Yeah," Weasley grunted, his freckled face markedly pale. "That's him."_

 _Potter bent, disappearing from sight as Theo and Draco strained to see him._

" _No pulse," Potter determined flatly, rising to his feet. "Dead."_

" _Fuuuuck," Weasley breathed, releasing the word in a slow exhale. "Natural?"_

" _Doubtful," Potter said, flinching. "Looks like someone was stealing from him." He glanced up, eyeing the bookcases against the wall, and Draco shook his head in disbelief; they clearly had an uncanny understanding of pureblood vaults._

" _To be honest, Ron," Potter ventured slowly, "it looks a bit like a page out of our playbook."_

 _Draco and Theo exchanged glances._

" _Could it have been one of us?" Weasley choked. "We're not there every time - "_

" _Like Hermione would allow that," Potter determined, grimacing. "Or Bill, for that matter." He swallowed, running his hand through his unruly hair. "This wasn't us. This - " he hesitated. "I don't want to be paranoid," he said slowly, "but I'm thinking this might have been staged."_

 _Theo's eyes widened; Draco's veins tingled with a cool rush of fear. Potter was right in front of him, Draco thought frantically, wondering if things were about to sour. Both Potter and Weasley had their wands lowered; they were totally unsuspecting. It would be an easy grab, an easy victory; it would mean the end of -_

 _The end of what, exactly?_

 _He widened his eyes meaningfully at Theo, who shook his head. Not yet, he was saying, a finger pressed to his lips. Not yet. Wait and see._

" _I'd like to shake hands with whoever who took this bastard down," Weasley muttered, jutting his chin out. "The world's better off, frankly."_

 _Theo made an indistinct choking sound that only Draco caught. If he didn't know better, he might have thought it was a laugh. Potter, though, was not amused._

" _Maybe we should go," the dark haired wizard sighed, reaching up to rub his forehead. He seemed tired, Draco noted. Only half present. "Just get out of here, before - "_

" _Before what? They blame us?" Weasley cut in skeptically, making a face. "How would it be any worse than how they already talk about us? You've seen the papers," he added, a little sulky. "You've seen what they made us out to be."_

" _Criminals," Potter agreed. "Hermione said they would."_

" _We're going to get blamed for this," Weasley grumbled. "Who bloody cares what the truth is anymore?"_

 _Potter looked up at that, something flashing momentarily in his green eyes. "That," he pronounced slowly, "is very true."_

" _This is going to get out, and we're going to be blamed," Weasley spat. "They'll issue a statement about how you're completely unhinged - "_

" _Maybe not," Potter murmured, half to himself. He crossed his arms over his chest, broadening his stance as though to accommodate the idea that was flooding him. Beside Draco, Theo was nodding, catching Potter's hints well before Weasley himself took notice._

" _I can see it now," Weasley groaned, "Harry Potter, Boy Who Killed; the rumors will swirl - "_

" _Maybe," Potter pronounced curtly, "or maybe this time, we write the narrative ourselves." He looked up, and Weasley's eyes narrowed._

" _Harry," he broached carefully, "what - "_

" _Come on," Potter said, and then he was hardly recognizable from when he'd first appeared; it was like lightning had struck in his spine. The exhaustion was gone, and something fearsome in its place. "We have to see Bill."_

 _Weasley's face contorted in doubt. "Harry - "_

 _But Potter had reached out, grabbing him by the collar; Weasley had barely a moment to register his dismay. They vanished with a loud crack, and only then did Draco release a shallow, gasping breath, his head spinning._

* * *

"Fuck," Draco shouted, sitting upright with a jolt.

Not again. This could not be happening again.

"Dreams," Theo had remarked unhappily, two glasses into Draco's spontaneous visit from the previous night. "Not good."

"I fucking know that," Draco snapped, raking his fingers through his hair. No thought had ever been safe; no memory had ever been secure. "That's why I'm here. That's why we have to do something."

"Are you looking for Potter, or are you looking for redemption?" Theo countered, standing to join him by the fire. "Better decide now, Draco."

Draco bristled at the comment; at the sheer audacity of the intended warning. "How is your conscience, Theo?" he demanded. "How secure are you?"

 _No crime can go unpaid forever._

"I have the great benefit of not having brought the manifestation of my guilt to subside in my house," Theo reminded him. "I made a point to ask you what you were doing. You seemed to have known at the time."

 _Cursed from birth,_ Draco heard him say. _And we taught ourselves to hide._

"That was before," Draco managed hoarsely. "Before it came back to me."

 _Make peace with your abuses, or we will do it for you._

He shuddered at the memory, pressing his fingers to his temples.

"I didn't put my wand to his head, Draco, I don't have that on my conscience," Theo said quietly. "Forgive me if I can only live with what I did," he added, looking Draco in the eye, "without being made to suffer everything."

Draco said nothing.

"Do you regret what you did for me?" Theo had asked hoarsely, and Draco shut his eyes.

 _We have blood on our hands._

"No," he'd said, and he meant it. "Never."

He threw his legs over the side of his bed and leapt to his feet, squinting at the clock. It was early afternoon. Shit.

What time had he gotten home from Theo's last night? Well into the morning hours, he imagined; he couldn't have arrived in his bed before four, and he clearly hadn't bothered with changing, he thought, grimacing at the wrinkles in his trousers. Too many other things on his mind.

Even with Theo on board there were still countless things to worry about. Visiting Hogwarts was no easily accomplished task. Movements in and out were tracked closely; the Dark Lord kept his "curriculum" isolated within the castle walls. There was only one person Draco could think to contact, and _he_ would be far too clever not to ask why. They had spent half the night just debating whether to tell him.

They'd gotten nowhere, of course, and didn't entirely come to a satisfying conclusion; the problem with people who were far too clever was that their cleverness couldn't be trusted out of context. In the end, the letter, which took three hours to draft, simply read: _We're coming. Hogsmeade weekend?_

And a late response; he never slept.

 _Noon. My office. We'll walk over. - BZ_

Tomorrow, then. Back to Hogwarts. Draco nearly shivered at the thought; he'd never quite recovered. He'd never regained his footing from the whole ordeal, so to speak, and it seemed his life since then had been an unending stream of _things that should never have happened._ The first time he felt his Mark burn. The first time he pointed a wand in someone's face and muttered something he couldn't come back from. The first time he realized his silly boyhood rivalry was now truly a matter of life and death.

An enumerable list of things that should never have happened.

He wondered if going back to the castle would wake him from a dream; bring him to a world where the things he'd suffered were limited to his imagination. Perhaps there was a version of himself out in the universe where something had gone differently. Maybe he'd never disarmed Dumbledore in the tower. Maybe he hadn't let Theo go home that night; maybe he had taken Theo away from the start. Or maybe fucking Potter shook his fucking hand, and _everything_ was different.

Or maybe he was what he was: a coward whose father won a gamble of allegiance. Maybe there was only one life, and it was this one.

 _And maybe the girl in the other room was hungry_ , he sighed, _and he should get the fuck to the kitchen._

* * *

She heard his movements and couldn't fight a sigh of relief; she burrowed lower in the blankets, content to wait in the dark.

She liked to occupy her mind elsewhere for the most part, drifting off in her memories. But from time to time, she enjoyed being here, in this room, in this time. There was a comfort to knowing he was somewhere outside, someone tangible and real, and frightened in a way that she herself once knew how to be frightened; the fear of someone who wishes for something more. Who still believes _more_ to be attainable.

She wondered if he ever considered the foolishness of his animosity, the childishness of his prejudice. He had the look of someone weary, someone borne along by circumstance and not by choice; and she, who had witnessed hatred in a multitude of flashes, no longer saw it in him. Maybe there was another world somewhere - some other universe - where he'd realized it sooner. Maybe he hadn't been born as he was, or called as he'd been. Maybe -

"Maybe he's just an arse and you're getting carried away," Harry cautioned her.

She ignored him.

 _A boy so steeped in sun,_ she murmured to herself, and when he opened the door, she had to squint at the light that gleamed from the outlines of his angles.

* * *

She pulled herself up from the covers, managing half a smile at him. She looked lost in thought, and he wondered how he must look by comparison.

"Food," he said, always terrible at attempting conversation. "If - you're hungry."

He waited for her to tilt her head, to stare blankly at him, but she seemed determined by something; even anxious. She slid her legs out under the duvet and began to slowly melt down the side of the bed, her feet meeting the floor with a light thud as she moved to straighten. It was Draco who stared after her, mutely watching her stumble to take hold of the bed post, her eyes widening as she unexpectedly tipped sideways.

"Fuck," Draco swore instinctively, dropping the tray of food in his hands and stepping out to catch her; he slipped an arm around her waist and wrenched her upright as she looked up at him, still searching, before bracing herself against his chest.

It felt like he looked at her for almost a full minute before speaking, and then he kicked himself for his disfunction.

"Do you, um," Draco began awkwardly, "do you - "

"A walk," she offered quietly, her expression wistful. "If that's - "

"Okay," Draco agreed quickly, shifting his arm around her ribcage. "Bath first, or - ?"

She shook her head. "Walk," she said again, quieter this time, though slightly more firm.

He nudged her forward. "You set the pace," he suggested. "I'll just . . . try to keep up."

She gave him a rueful little twist of her lips that he took to be a smile, and they set off at a snail's pace, with her leaning heavily against him for balance.

"You seem better," he remarked, as they exited the bedroom and turned into the second floor hallway. "Moving around."

He glanced at her; she wasn't listening and was concentrating on her steps, each one deliberately placed, one in front of the other. They were halfway down the corridor when she seemed to gain some certainty, slowly leaning away from him and balancing on her own.

He found himself conflicted by her strength; the distance between them left him breathless.

"Maybe we might have a chat," he suggested, grimacing as the suggestion emerged like a fanciful sigh. She looked up at him and he instantly felt foolish; her brown eyes were unnerving. There was still some coldness he hadn't quite figured out.

"Once upon a time, there was a prince," she said, and he sighed.

"Or we could do this," he muttered.

"A prince," she repeated, giving him a lightly scolding glance, "who wished to make a name for himself, and to find himself a hero in his realm. Raised as he was in righteousness and morality," she continued, eyeing her feet as she made to take a more confident step, "he wished to find himself a defender of good, and a defeater of evil."

"One day while he was traveling, he came across an entrancing princess in the woods, locked away in a tower. He saw that the princess, whose voice was so lovely and enticing as to lure him towards her song, was kept under the watchful eye of a terrible monster."

"The prince watched as the monster, who came during the day, called for the princess to lower her hair, so that the monster could climb the tower and be in her presence. The prince, then, resolved to do the same. ' _I will climb it,_ ' he said, ' _and in so doing, I shall seek my fortune_.'"

She stopped then and Draco tightened his grip, his arm wrapped snugly around her ribs. _Weasley again,_ he suspected, and felt the cool rush of remorse through his veins.

"The prince, who had only known righteousness, believed the princess in the tower to be kind and faithful, and she begged him to free her," she said, turning herself to begin to walk the opposite way. "She requested that he bring a silken rope for her to make a ladder and escape, and the prince, in his wish for fairness and virtue, agreed, arranging with the princess to return another night."

 _A princess,_ Draco thought, frowning. _Someone on her side?_

"What the prince didn't know," she continued quietly, sagging a little in his arms, "is that the princess was little different from the monster, for she was quick to give into her own selfish impulses. The monster, discovering their plan, offered her power in exchange for the prince, and she hastily agreed; for she, a princess knowing only of isolation and loss, was beholden to her selfish desires."

 _The Dark Lord a monster; Weasley a prince. But who -_

She stumbled and he hooked his arm further around her, careful not to let her fall despite the ill-timed foray into his thoughts. The story was more dizzying than usual, but his analysis would have to wait, he thought, holding her close.

"When the prince returned and called down for the princess, he rapidly climbed her hair, as he had done before, fueled by the dreams of fortune that danced in his mind's eye. But fortune, for him, was a curse," she determined bitterly, and she started to waver under his arm, the movement of her footsteps disrupted. "The monster was waiting, hands rubbing together as he laughed; and the prince knew that he had put his faith in the wrong person. He looked into the menacing eyes of the selfish princess, and failed to recognize her for her greed; he begged for mercy, but she would give none."

She was choking on her words now, struggling to continue, and Draco pulled them to a stop, leaning against the wall as she stared angrily at something he couldn't see.

 _Something in her past_ , he thought, waiting for her to continue.

"And so, with no aide, and no escape, the monster took hold of the prince, his eyes glittering with malice," she said hoarsely. "And he spoke - ' _You come for your darling, but the sweet bird sits no longer in the nest, and sings no more_ \- "

She broke off, her face wrenched in pain, and buried her face in his chest.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and he stroked her hair.

"No," he said helplessly, "no, you don't need to - "

"I'm sorry," she said again, "it was my fault, everything - "

"I'm sorry too," he said back, pulling her against him.

 _Make peace with your abuses, or we will do it for you._

 _I'm sorry_ , they both said, as they sank slowly to the floor.

* * *

"You took some liberties," Harry said morosely. "Rapunzel, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Hermione confirmed, knowing he wouldn't care for her rendition.

And he clearly didn't.

"The princess in league with the monster," Harry mused skeptically. "A dark twist on an already horrendous story."

 _Yes, apologies for not blinding anyone._ She stiffened, fighting a harsh response.

"This may shock you," she managed drily, "but I'm not finding myself in a very sunshiney mood."

He failed to be put off by her acrimony.

"Who was the princess?" Harry pressed, ignoring her subsequent glare. "Bill?"

"No," she said moodily, sitting up slowly. At Harry's questioning glance, she sighed in resignation. "Yes," she muttered. "No. I don't know."

"You don't know," Harry repeated dubiously, one brow raised. "Liar."

She said nothing.

"In league with Voldemort," Harry pressed, glossing over her falseness. "Harsh."

"Fine. The princess wasn't . . . Bill, exactly," she admitted. "Not really." She paused, trying to put her feelings into words. "It was his goals, you know. His motivation."

"Greed?" Harry echoed blankly, parroting her word choice. "Selfishness?"

"You remember the letter," she said sharply. "He put a target on us all. He taunted them. It was never supposed to be like that," she reminded him, turning to face him. "We didn't have to turn Nott's death into such a - " she cut off, wincing. "A _spectacle._ "

"Bill lost his wife to them," Harry said gently. "He wanted them to feel what he felt."

"And that's not greed?" Hermione countered. "That's not selfishness?"

Harry fell silent; Hermione leaned forward, resting her hand on her elbows as she eyed the floor.

"I don't want to be like this," she whispered to Harry. "I'm tired of feeling - "

She didn't know the word, and so she stared at the ground, trapped in introspection.

"Helpless?"

She felt a small thrill and looked up, meeting the soft, pale eyes of Luna Lovegood.

"You always know the word," Hermione said faintly, not sure whether to be pleased.

"You know it too," Luna replied, sitting cross-legged on the bed and smiling. "You just don't trust your words not to turn on you once they leave."

Hermione sighed impatiently. "What does that _mean_ , Luna?" she asked, a little disgruntled by her own lack of understanding.

"Oh, nothing," Luna said faintly, though her wide eyes flashed with fondness. "But maybe," she continued, shifting to sit beside Hermione, "maybe a happier time would help?"

"I don't need to be happy," Hermione said crossly, carelessly brushing off the thought. "I'm just tired of feeling weak."

"Ah, but you really aren't, are you?" Luna asked, a slow, knowing smile spreading over her lips.

 _Oh Luna_ , Hermione thought with a sigh. _You always know more than she should._

* * *

" _They must get their strategy from - the mudblood," Theo said, coughing up the term. "I imagine she's the only one with sufficient ingenuity to track these," he added, gesturing to the rolled up Daily Prophet in his hand._

" _What, current events?" Mulciber prompted wryly._

" _Auction reports," Theo corrected. He threw the newspaper onto the table, pointing at the article that was now lying face up. "A year ago, Avery" - he looked up, eyeing Avery where he sat - "put up a couple thousand galleons at auction. His was the first estate struck. Then," he said, letting another newspaper thud on top the previous, "Lestrange did the same. A month later, a disturbance in his wards, money and heirlooms gone." He reached behind him, digging into his bag, before dropping another dozen or so papers onto the table. "Mulciber, Yaxley, Rowle, the list goes on."_

" _And then," Theo continued grimly, while the rest of the room marinated in silence, "two weeks ago my father spent a small fortune on a rare item of some . . . hazy significance," he said, and Draco watched him apply a wounded mask, a pained expression. "And we know what happened after that."_

 _Theo sorrowfully dropped his chin, lowering his gaze to the table; the other Death Eaters at the table did the same. Only Draco could see Theo's sharp green eyes travel from face to face, reading his performance. Theo, wisely, waited a moment before he delivered the final blow, which he and Draco had spent the entirety of the previous week exhaustively preparing._

 _You'll have to play the part, Draco had warned._

 _I can do that, Theo had promised._

" _Yesterday, the Prophet printed an account of the most recent auction at Borgin's. The headlining item, the ring of Madurra, went to Rosier, for a price of ten thousand galleons. Congratulations, by the way," he added coolly, his gaze flicking to where Rosier was now fidgeting in his seat._

 _They all glanced up sharply at that, looking at Theo like they were seeing him for the first time; Draco could see the shift in their faces, the slow melting of the dubious glassy stares that gradually became hardened expressions of malice._

" _The Order killed my father," Theo said, artfully permitting his voice to break, and for a moment, even Draco forgot what he knew. "I don't believe that you would expect me to let them get away."_

 _A prolonged silence. A hazy chill._

 _A perfect performance._

" _I will speak to the Dark Lord," Mulciber said slowly._

Draco tossed in his sleep, wiping sweat from his brow.

 _He was in Rosier's house, mask on, under a disillusionment charm, when they heard Weasley's voice. The five of them lined the room and he could feel Theo fidgeting beside him; Draco reached out, gripping Theo's wrist._

 _Steady, his fingers said; though Draco wondered what gave them the right to speak._

He tried desperately to wake. He didn't want to relive what came next.

 _Weasley's voice - he wasn't with Potter - he was with the oldest Weasley, the tall one, and they were trapped -_

 _Draco turned, trying to clear his mind, but some things couldn't clear. Things like Theo's eyes under the mask - things like Rowle's voice and the words, the words Draco could never bring himself to say - things like seeing Weasley drop to the floor -_

He only realized he was sobbing when he felt a hand on his arm, pulling him out of the abyss; he clung to her, pulling her beside him.

"You have nightmares," she murmured, resting her head against his chest. "I have them too."

"Is this not the nightmare?" he asked hoarsely.

Her fingers swept across his jaw, resting lightly on his cheek.

"Well," she said softly, "it's certainly not the dream."

When he closed his eyes again, he only thought of her.

 _For all that her strength was sapped, she rose; indeed, she triumphed, and between her and the boy, she was the greater. For she had suffered more; and for her suffering, she feared nothing._

* * *

 **a/n:** Story influence from _Rapunzel_ by the Brothers Grimm. Dedicated to habababa . . . this is a tough one for a translator, considering pieces of it are intentionally patterned on a very archaic English writing style. I'm so grateful you still find it worth reading!


	8. The Damsel Undistressed

**Chapter 8: The Damsel Undistressed**

 _Left to her own devices, the night girl grew thoughtful, clinging to the glimmer of day she sought, hoarding all its splendor. She wished to hide her knowledge of the light - hide it even from her own eyes, keeping it close to her heart, content to know it was hers - and to feast upon it only in the privacy of her worship, lest she go to blows with the aching of her soul. What is this I have, the night girl wondered; how is it I am lifted above all weariness; above all wrong?_

 _But it was light, she knew, though she kept it to herself; it was his light, and she, who could see through the cover of darkness, was radiant in his sight._

* * *

They crept down to the dungeons with an odd, unspeakable melancholy. The eeriness of the whole experience was insurmountable; even Theo, who generally preferred things at a level of wordlessness that Draco railed against, fidgeted in the silence.

"Hard to believe what this place once was, isn't it?" Draco commented. "Weird Snape's not going to be the one down there."

Theo nodded. "Wonder if Blaise has gotten batlike at all?"

"Oversized robes," Draco joked. "Pale skin - "

"The burden of being potionmaster at Hogwarts," Theo added, but by then, it felt too depressing to continue. They continued the rest of the way in silence, neither particularly relishing in it. By the time they stepped through the door of the Potions classroom, even the sound of a high, trilling vibrato warbling through the air was a welcome reprieve.

Blaise had his back to them, humming along with the melody; his mother, a lauded soprano before her famed beauty lured seven adoring husbands to their death, winked at them from her album cover, which leaned against an aging record player.

"Is that - " Theo cut off, looking disgusted. "What sort of Oedipal shit is this?"

"What?" Draco asked, as Blaise turned to greet them.

"Oedipus," Theo sniffed. "Killed his father and fucked his mother."

"Dark, Nott," Blaise determined, chuckling grimly. "Thrilled to see you too."

"Inaccurate, too, isn't it?" Draco prompted. "Blaise being the murdery one of the Zabinis?"

"Not another word," Blaise warned, though a slow smile crept silkily across his face. "Been some time, gents."

"One might say that," Draco agreed, inclining his head apologetically.

"One _might_ say nearly two years have passed since I last heard from either of you," Blaise ventured thoughtfully. "If one is counting, of course."

"Don't be so coquettish, Blaise, just ask us what the fuck we want and be done with it," Theo advised, taking a seat behind his desk. "Save Draco the effort of playing at subtlety."

"Playing at?" Draco echoed sulkily, making a face. "I'm insulted."

"What the fuck do you want?" Blaise asked smoothly, and Theo nodded his approval.

"The pleasure of your company, Zabini," he retorted, propping his feet up on the desk. "How dare you?"

Blaise gave an exasperated sigh, shaking his head as Theo grinned.

"How you have survived this long is mystifying," Blaise muttered. "How is it you've both managed to stay so favored?"

Draco and Theo exchanged glances.

"Something to do with a brilliantly executed plan that I've spent the last three years coasting off of," Theo replied indifferently. "Though," he amended brightly, "I imagine 'favored' might be a stretch."

"He's right," Draco remarked tightly, "we're hardly favored."

Blaise gave an impassive shrug. "Well, things are a little different outside your little manor houses, boys," he commented wryly, gesturing to his standard issue teaching robes. "Hence the current post."

"Passed over for a Mark?" Draco asked quietly. "Even after - "

"It's a bit more to do with birth than accomplishments," Blaise reminded him, his gaze flicking up to meet Draco's. "I presume you're aware."

Draco, who wasn't entirely certain whether to be offended, opened his mouth, but was quickly interrupted.

"Ah, forgive him," Theo cut in, offering Blaise a dispassionate shrug as he gestured to Draco. "Malfoy's only trying to spare your feelings."

"What feelings would I be suffering from?" Blaise sniffed dubiously. "The horrible ailings of the nouveau riche?"

"Some lingering resentment at being relegated to Bat of the Dungeons?" Theo suggested, and Blaise smirked at that, a tacit concession. "Odd that this would be the safest place for you."

"Is it still?" Draco asked curiously, dropping his voice. He glanced skittishly at the open door, a gesture that was not missed by Blaise.

"Considering my particular . . . persuasions," Blaise noted, his gaze dropping innocently to his hands, "staying out of the way is probably best."

"Worried you'd be paired off with some insipid bird and forced to mate?" Theo asked, and Draco flashed him a warning glare.

"Maybe we shouldn't - "

"Safer to talk here than in Hogsmeade," Blaise interjected, looking purposefully at Draco. "Teachers are at least forced to get along; there's a code. Pub patrons, though, are a different story - and Snatchers, on occasion - "

"Snatchers?" Draco asked, frowning. "In Hogsmeade?"

"There are Undesirables everywhere," Blaise drawled mockingly, waving his hand to suggest an infestation underfoot. "Of course there would be some in Hogsmeade. Or the Forbidden Forest," he added, cocking his head thoughtfully. "For about a year there was some wild speculation that there were Order members living in it."

"No kidding," Theo remarked lazily, though his green eyes flicked purposefully to Draco's.

"But you," Draco said quickly, hoping Blaise's narrowed eyes did not catch everything. "How are _you_ doing?"

"Pretty settled in at this point," Blaise said, shrugging. "Potions is at least fairly straightforward, and I'm not head of house, so problems of" - he paused, taking a deep, shaky breath - " _discipline,_ " he determined wearily, "do not normally fall to me."

"One of the Carrows, then?" Draco asked, and Blaise nodded.

"Amycus," he said gruffly.

"Lovely," Theo remarked with a scowl. "I'm sure the learning process is a delight."

"It's fucked, actually," Blaise spat bitterly. " _Crucio_ is essentially - "

"Zabini," a voice called, and Theo and Draco launched to their feet, trying to appear both innocent and unperturbed. "Did you say you were - oh," said a startled Cassius Warrington, materializing in the doorway. "Sorry, I didn't realize - "

"It's fine," Blaise said quietly, and Draco and Theo shared a look. "You two remember Cassius, I presume?"

"Hello," Draco said gruffly, and Theo nodded in greeting.

"I, um," Blaise hesitated, walking over to Cassius and muttering something in his ear that sounded suspiciously like _later._

"Well," Theo murmured to Draco, moving to stand beside him. "It seems Zabini's persuasions have found themselves a match."

"He really _is_ better off here," Draco commented, eyeing the way the two men comfortably leaned towards each other. "I feel slightly better." He glanced down at his watch. "We can't take too long in Hogsmeade, though."

"Don't make it obvious," Theo muttered, leaning back against the desk. "He probably already thinks something's up."

Draco sighed in agreement. "I presume I can count on you to bring up this stunning observation if the need for distraction should arise?" he prompted, gesturing to Blaise and Cassius.

Theo smirked. "Consider it an honor and a privilege," he asserted, giving Draco a curt nod.

* * *

"It's so lovely out here," Luna chirped happily, lifting her face to revel in the sun. "Hermione, you've done a marvelous job."

"It's just a memory," Hermione sighed, standing once again in the center of what would later become their camp. "You don't need to be so . . . _Luna_ about it."

"It's nice that you remember things looking like this," Luna replied, glossing over Hermione's surliness. "I didn't think you were too thrilled to see me."

"I was not," Hermione confirmed curtly, sighing. "Even if - "

"Even if you agreed with me?" Luna asked, grinning.

"I didn't!" Hermione exclaimed indignantly. "Ron and I had _just_ found him, I wanted him _safe_ , I wanted him - " she cut off, sputtering. "I wanted him _alive_ , for god's sake!"

"Well, you do normally know best," Luna determined sagely, hiding a smile. "You are the brightest witch of your age, you know."

"And yet you outsmarted me at every turn, didn't you?" Hermione snorted, scowling. "How many times did you lure us into something insane before I realized how dangerous you were?"

"Dangerous," Luna echoed dubiously. "I don't think that's the word you meant."

Hermione ignored her. "I should have known when you found us that you knew we would follow," she sighed. "I should have known better than to believe you were ever a damsel in distress."

Luna smiled at that, which mildly enraged Hermione. "Do you remember what I said to him?" she asked softly. "To Harry?"

"I remember his face," Hermione admitted with a pained smile; Harry had been wholly dumbfounded. "You spoke directly to his insufferable hero complex."

 _You are responsible for more than just destroying a Dark Lord, Harry Potter!_

"I did a little, didn't I?" Luna said whimsically. "I suppose it was a bit cheeky of me."

"Cheeky," Hermione groaned, rolling her eyes. "Everything you did and said was completely intentional."

 _You are responsible for giving people hope. That's what makes you the Chosen One!_

"Is it possible," Luna began, "that you might be affording me undue credit in hindsight?"

Hermione glanced skeptically at her. "Is this you toying with me again?"

"Do you feel you're being toyed with?" Luna countered, tilting her head.

"Stop," Hermione warned. "Stop it."

Luna hid a smile. "In any case," she said brightly, "I do appreciate that you were eventually convinced."

"Convinced?" Hermione repeated, her jaw dropping in disbelief. "Being _convinced_ had nothing to do with it - you planted a crazy idea in Harry's impressionable brain - "

"It really is so impressionable," Luna agreed dreamily.

" - and then I had no choice but to go along with his undercooked plan to rescue you!" Hermione finished, though Luna's smile of amusement felt very counterproductive to her agitation. "Had I _known_ you'd planned the whole thing - "

"Now, Hermione," Luna said sternly, "do you really think I would have _planned_ to find myself entirely immobilized in a house full of paralyzed Death Eaters, only to be rescued to great fanfare by the mysteriously _not_ dead Harry Potter" - she paused, nudging Hermione fondly - "and his deeply cynical friends?"

"Oh my god, you planned it," Hermione groaned, and Luna's delighted laugh carried through the clearing.

* * *

Lunch with Blaise was brief and relatively cheery, given the utter sullenness of what had become of the Three Broomsticks. It was decidedly _not_ the place for a private conversation, so Draco was much indebted to Blaise for his inclination that they speak in his office.

"How long were you permitted to be here?" Blaise asked, taking a sip of his mead.

"Portkey leaves in a half hour," Draco lied, and Blaise raised one smoothly arched brow. "But if you need to get back to work - "

"Or not work," Theo said loudly, smirking as he offered Blaise a conspiratorial wink.

Blaise glared at him. "Don't," he warned, his voice low. He fidgeted in his seat, and Draco, for all his already thorough knowledge of his best friend, warmed at the thought that Theo's mastery of subtle distraction remained delightfully unparalleled.

"I suppose you should get going, then," Blaise noted, gesturing to Rosmerta. "Don't want to rush you."

"A gentleman and a scholar, you are," Theo proclaimed, raising his glass. "Zabini forever!"

"We should do this again sometime," Draco ventured, attempting politeness; in truth, he couldn't imagine ever visiting again without arousing suspicion. He'd had to tell a myriad of falsehoods just to secure the one. "Best not to let so much time pass."

"It was good to see you both, if not simply to be reminded that Nott here is an utter menace and I'm better off without him," Blaise said, nudging Theo with a smirk.

"What am I, then?" Draco asked, feigning injury.

"A stunning pillar of masculinity," Theo offered.

"A spectacular pillar," Blaise amended, and Draco shrugged.

"Fine," he conceded. "Accepted."

They made their way out of the pub and wandered back toward the castle, still chatting as they walked, though conversation was considerably hindered by their impending parting. By the time Blaise brought up the weather, Draco figured it was safe to part; they split off with an amicable wave as Blaise took the path to the castle, leaving the other two to glance at each other before grimacing and heading for the forest.

"You think they could have actually _lived_ here?" Theo asked, glancing around behind him before stepping through the trees.

"Seems unlikely," Draco agreed, "but Granger does keep mentioning forests." He paused, shrugging. "I suppose it could be metaphorical."

"What would be a _metaphorical_ forest?" Theo countered skeptically.

"Their tangled circumstances?" Draco suggested, and Theo made a face.

"Don't try to be poetic," he cautioned. "It's shit."

"Thank you for sparing my feelings," Draco quipped flatly, and Theo chuckled.

"So, is this as aimless as it feels?" Theo asked after a while, looking around. "It's a pretty big fucking forest, Draco."

"I know," Draco sighed. "I have a vague idea, I think, but - "

"Perfect, I was worried you'd be overly prepared - "

" - _but_ ," Draco said loudly, "I do think, at the very least, that we can - "

"What the fuck is this?" Theo interrupted, pointing at something between the trees. Draco squinted, catching something orb-like as it glowed faintly, traveling a radius around them.

" _Hominem revelio_ ," Draco noted, frowning, then reached out to grab Theo's arm, stopping him. "That means someone is - "

"What's this?"

Draco turned at the jarring sound of an unpleasant sneer, catching sight of a tall, lanky blond that he would have been thrilled never to encounter again in his lifetime.

"Fuck off," Draco said tightly, his eyes flicking distastefully to the upturned nose of Zacharias Smith. "What are you doing here?"

"I could say the same," Smith remarked, crossing his arms. Behind him, two more men stepped out, each dressed in the same standard garb that served to indicate their status. _Or more appropriately_ , Draco thought, _their lack of._

"Smith," Theo commented drily. "I see your tendency towards opportunism suits you, as ever."

"Opportunism," Smith echoed facetiously. "Why does it sound like such a dirty word on your tongue, Nott?"

 _Opportunism_ was right. Smith hadn't fought in the war; hadn't ever risked an inch of skin on his neck. It was staggeringly unpleasant for Draco to witness him now, evidently shrugging on the guise of bounty hunter, as though he'd never had anything to lose.

"Leave," Draco commanded instantly, feeling a rush of impatience. "Snatchers have no business following - "

"Following what?" Smith prompted. "A couple of ineffective Death Eaters who look suspiciously like they're _not_ on official business?"

"Since when are you tasked with following your betters?" Draco snapped. Theo, to his surprise - he was, after all, nearly always the more combative between the two of them - shot him a warning glance.

"My betters?" Smith repeated mockingly. "You toe a precariously thin line, Malfoy - "

"Fuck you," Draco growled, turning to leave. "Theo, come on - "

"Where're you headed, Malfoy?" Smith called, his voice ringing with a mystifying smugness that prompted Draco to glance over his shoulder. "I checked your permit, you know. Said you're here for a personal visit, and yet" - he looked around, making a show of peering about - "I don't see Professor Zabini anywhere."

"Don't taunt him," Theo murmured, but Draco made a face, ignoring him.

"What makes you think you have the right to check up on my comings and goings, Smith?" Draco asked, shaking off Theo's grip and striding towards the other blond. "Who do you think you are, you fucking - "

"I think I'm a person who recognizes something suspicious when I see it," Smith mused. "Ah," he said brightly, winking at Theo. "Opportunism, indeed."

"What's fucking suspicious?" Theo countered gruffly, pointedly keeping his distance. "What benefit could there possibly be from following us around?"

"There are rumors going around, boys," Smith said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Some very interesting rumors indeed, that Malfoy here," he said, jutting his chin out to reference him, "might have a certain Order mouse in his possession. Couple that," he added obnoxiously, "with him returning to a rumored Order camp - "

Draco swallowed, his eyes flicking to Theo. Zacharias Smith was a weasel and a menace, but his point was solid. If anyone were to look into their visit -

 _Too many_ , Theo mouthed cautiously, registering that the situation was three on two; but at Draco's tightened expression, he reluctantly raised his wand.

 _Stupefy_ , Draco commanded silently, but Smith deftly blocked the spell, catching the flash of red light.

"Fuck you, Malfoy," Smith seethed, before launching a rapid _expulso_ his way.

A _protego_ was enough to dissipate the detonation spell but it had never been a good idea to enter a duel outnumbered - " _Don't let them leave,_ " Draco shouted to Theo, who grunted his acknowledgement through gritted teeth - and spells were soaring through the air, taking out entire branches, blowing holes in tree cover, and leaving Draco and Theo on the defensive, sprinting to align themselves back to back.

"We have to modify their memories at least," Draco panted, sending an _expelliarmus_ at one of Smith's fellow Snatchers. "We can't let this get out - "

"I fucking grasp the concept," Theo snapped, yanking Draco down to narrowly miss a stunning spell aimed at his head. "If you can just - "

" _Deprimo!_ "

Draco let out an inadvertent howl as a sharp wooden shard buried itself in his side, his fingers quickly slick with blood the moment he gripped the wound. " _Diffindo -_ "

His aim was off and Theo was holding him up as the pain shot up his torso; Draco shut his eyes, stumbling. "Theo, I can't - "

"What is this?" a loud voice demanded from just beyond the ring of trees, and Draco stumbled back against Theo's chest, weakened by injury and hesitation. A chestnut-bodied centaur had wandered towards them, bow raised, surrounded by a slowly materializing circle of his herd.

"Stay out of it," Smith snarled to the intruding figures, wiping some stray blond hairs from his brow; Draco was pleased to see Smith's mouth was bleeding, and that he, too, was struggling on his feet.

"Who are you?" the centaur demanded roughly. "Speak, human."

"None of your business," Smith retorted, spitting blood onto the ground. "Fucking _mind your business_ , you fucking horse - "

"What did you just say?" shouted an angry black centaur who had stomped forward the moment Smith's mouth had opened. "How _dare_ you - "

 _Obliviate,_ Draco thought silently in the midst of the escalating scenario, aiming one at a time at each of Smith's accomplices; Theo, who still gripped his ribs, nodded his approval. The distraction was well-timed, though Draco now doubted they'd find their way out.

"What are you doing in our Forest?" a grey centaur demanded, joining the other two. "You have no right to enter!"

" _Your_ forest?" Smith countered haughtily. "Fuck off - "

The words had barely left his mouth before he was swept off his feet by the hard-faced black centaur. "Theo," Draco muttered weakly, gesturing, and he watched as Theo's memory modification struck Zacharias Smith the moment he was tossed in the air and carried off, the ground shaking with furious hoofbeats.

"What do we do with these, Magorian?" the grey centaur murmured to the chestnut as the others circled around Draco, Theo, and the remaining two Snatchers.

"You know what they are," Magorian replied, as Draco fought to keep his eyes from closing. His head swam with a mixture of pain and panic, neither of which served to stop the copious bleeding that had now soaked through his shirt. "You know who they work for. Kill them."

Figures started closing in around them as Theo, clever Theo, began talking, his words drifting in and out of Draco's mind.

" - please - meant no offense - "

" - do not belong here - "

" - grave injury, please - _please -_ "

" - no exceptions - "

" _Wait_!"

A shout; Draco nearly managed to open his eyes. Nearly.

"Wait - "

" - inconceivable arrogance - "

" - this one - you know this one - "

" - the boy - the boy, so steeped in sun - "

" - stars, it is foreseen, you know this - "

" - the others, they will - "

" - no mention of the others, this one, this one is - "

" - this is the one, leave him - "

There was a shuffle around him; Theo's grip tightened on him and he wondered what was happening but couldn't - couldn't quite manage to -

"Hold on, Draco," Theo muttered, as Draco breezed in and out of consciousness. "This is going to hurt."

* * *

There was a shout downstairs and Hermione's eyes snapped open.

"Is that real?" she asked, looking for Luna, but saw no one. "Is that - "

"Granger!"

The voice was distressed, but it wasn't Draco's. Hermione struggled out of the bed, trying desperately to make her way to the door; she slid along the wall, trying to solidify her footing.

"Granger, I know you're here somewhere - you don't have to come out - "

She nudged the door open, listening as she held her breath.

"He's hurt, Granger, but I - I can't stay - you have to do something but I have to cover our tracks, there's - fuck, an illegal apparition, missed the portkey - we're _fucked_ , Granger, _fucked -_ Granger, fuck, I hope you're listening - "

There was a crackle in the fire - a shout of "Nott Manor!" - and Hermione quickly launched herself at the stairs, half pulling herself down as she gripped the railing, stumbling forward and near tumbling at the base.

She saw him; Nott had lain him down on the carpet beside the fire. He was clearly unconscious, his shirt drenched in blood, and there was a bottle of something in his palm -

She stumbled forward, collapsing over him. Dittany, she registered, and lifted the shirt, inspecting the source of the blood. It was no clean cut - wood, she imagined, flinching as she noted the ragged opening, the traces of bark - but Nott's inclusion of Essence of Dittany would serve in the absence of a wand.

Her hand shook as she removed the stopper, dripping it liberally over his side; she cursed her own weakness as she fought her rising panic, feeling her breath repeatedly catch in her throat as she waited in silence, watching the wound close.

"Please," she murmured, "please don't leave me."

She lay down beside him on the floor, her hand resting lightly on his chest, feeling herself return to life with every rise and fall.

* * *

He opened his eyes, trying to remember where he was.

"Wh- " he started, and then coughed weakly. "How - "

"Don't," she whispered, and he realized she was beside him and he closed his eyes, seeking the sound of her voice.

"You're hurt," she said softly. "I'm sorry."

He said nothing, brushing his lips against her hair.

"Once there was a princess," she murmured, pulling him closer. "Born to a king who had the terrible misfortune of making enemies of a wrathful and vengeful fairy."

 _Princess_ , he thought fancifully, searching his memories, but he could only see Granger's face in his mind.

"The fairy, whose pride was damaged by the king's rebuke and thus, her inner cruelty brought forth, recognized that the king could be brought low by his love for his daughter; and so she lay a curse upon the fair princess's head, delivering a fate of hardship and death."

"The princess, for all her misfortune, could not be defeated by her circumstances, and resolved to make use of her quickness, and lightness of being; when it came time that she should fear the curse of death, she came willingly, and from her bravery, the curse became tainted; it was not death she found, but sleep."

"She came in search of her father, and upon her arrival, the entire household was placed under an enchantment," Granger continued softly. "The entire castle and all its inhabitants joined her in a paralysis of sleep, their doom being never to wake."

Something nudged Draco in the back of his mind; a newspaper, or a rumor. _They were all lying on the floor, the result of some exploded Class B Tradeable Materials -_

"But the princess had caught the eye of a brave and handsome prince, who came valiantly to her rescue," she said, her breath grazing across his chest. "He arrived at the castle, and woke the princess with a kiss, bringing her back from her curse of sleep, and restoring the princess to life. To his own great peril," she added, "for he himself was a prince much despised by the fairy."

 _You said he was dead, Narcissa, you said he was dead!_

"Together they made their escape," Granger whispered, "the fairy's curse eroded by the strength of their virtue, and her efforts defeated by the vigor of their hearts."

 _And yet she spoke into the wind -_

"I will rise," Draco choked out, gripping her fingers, beginning to understand.

"Yes," she said, her lips brushing his skin. "Yes. We always rise."

* * *

" _It's foxfire," Hermione whispered, crouching to look at the shattered jar. "I'm sure she thought it was something else," she added irritably, glancing at the handwritten label on the glass. "Catalytic chanterelles," she read, and then growled her frustration. "It's the erumpent horn all over again."_

" _Snorkack," Ron corrected her, and she reached out, smacking him in the chest._

" _This is not the time to joke, Ronald!" Hermione hissed, gesturing to the unmoving bodies on the floor. "How can you possibly - "_

" _Foxfire," Harry interrupted, frowning. "What is that? Can we wake them?"_

" _Of course I can wake them," Hermione sighed, shaking her head. "She knew I'd be able to," she added under her breath, noting for the first time that certain diminutive blondes were not to be entirely trusted._

* * *

He fell asleep in her arms. She looked up, watching the glow of the fire as it danced against the paleness of his skin.

"There's something about him, isn't there?" Luna asked, lowering herself to perch daintily beside Hermione. "You see something, don't you?"

"I shouldn't," Hermione said regretfully, brushing a loose silvery strand from his brow.

"Maybe not yet," Luna commented with a nod. "But you do eventually catch on to the important things, don't you?"

Hermione looked up, meeting the other woman's eye.

"Don't toy with me, Luna," she warned, and Luna smiled.

"I would never," she murmured.

 _What is this I have, the night girl wondered; how is it I am lifted above all weariness; above all wrong?_

 _But it was light, she knew, though she kept it to herself; it was his light, and she, who could see through the cover of darkness, was radiant in his sight._

* * *

 **a/n:** Inspiration from _Sleeping Beauty_ , Charles Perrault/Brothers Grimm. For you, afanoffanfic, as a thank you for the _Amortentia_ suggestion. I will think about that one, though Bill will definitely be back before long . . .


	9. The Wolf in Wait

**Chapter 9: The Wolf in Wait**

 _The day boy resolved to know the darkness, just as he resolved to know the night girl as his guide; for in the absence of his will, she had been his refuge; and when he spoke of darkness, her eyes glimmered to bring him light. In the wake of his own collapse, he struggled to his feet, determined to master his own bravery, and to sink his teeth into the prospects of the night._

 _But he, having resolved to wade through the hazards of the dark, took blow after blow from his efforts, brought low by his hazardous expeditions; the grand health, the blessed constitution over which the monster had taken such pains - blessing him with light, and showering him with favor - yielded, and he found himself in pain and misery, a victim of his own wandering. Each day he tried anew to bully his way through the darkness, gloried in his pride, only to find himself collapsed upon the ground, his enfeebled mind drifting helplessly to the night girl's eyes, bright as the sun itself against the punishment of dark._

 _Alas, he thought, shivering in the night; did his courage amount to but a trick of sunlight on his brain? Was he nothing more than a toy, tossed between the light and the dark? Oh he was, he thought, he was; and what a poor contemptible creature for it._

* * *

 _ **1998**_

* * *

"I still don't think this was a very good idea, Mione," Ron sighed, leaping to her side as he heard a crack from a branch nearby. "This isn't exactly my happy place."

"Well we didn't come to get happy, did we?" Hermione countered, nudging him with her elbow and flashing him a look of impatience. " _You_ said you were bored, and anyway, I can't stand it anymore." She shuddered. "It's been a month, and nobody's - "

She broke off. _Nobody's put him to rest,_ she thought, but couldn't gather the necessary strength to say the words. They felt heavy in her throat, sticky; a pill she would never manage to swallow. "Think about what he did for Dobby," she choked out, fighting the constant sting behind her eyes. "And how nobody has even thought to - "

Ron let his hand slip to her wrist, gripping it tightly. "You know I agree with you," he murmured quietly, letting his fingers twine comfortingly between hers. "You know I feel the same way."

She sighed, closing her eyes and forcing her grief aside.

"I know," she said finally, removing her hand from his and straightening briskly. "I just wish you would stop complaining." He opened his mouth to argue and she cut him off with a firm slicing gesture. "I know _precisely_ how many times you almost died here, Ronald, I do not need you to remind me - "

Ron cut her off with a whimper. "What was that?" he asked, craning to look through the trees. "Did you hear that?"

Hermione huffed indignantly, swallowing her nerves and channeling her pain into purposeful, brusque annoyance. "You'll have to stop hiding from your own shadow," she informed him, yanking him along behind her. "We can't spend all day here, you know."

Ron remained unconvinced. "I'm telling you," he insisted, "I _heard_ something - "

"I'm sure you did," Hermione said, now starting to wonder if she _also_ heard something, or if Ron was just needlessly infecting her with paranoia. "This is a _forest_ , Ronald, I don't know what kind of atmosphere you are expecting, but noises are part of the - "

She cut off, hearing a loud crack, and Ron yelped, clinging to her side.

"Hermione," he began, "I really think we should - "

"Shh," she warned, squinting. She was beginning to rethink her decision not to use a disillusionment charm, which was followed by the commensurate pang she felt at the thought of no longer having the invisibility cloak.

No cloak only meant no Harry, and it stung every time to remember.

" _Homenum Revelio,"_ she whispered experimentally.

Nothing. She and Ron looked at each other.

"So very human of you," a dispassionate voice muttered, speaking low behind her; she and Ron jumped, clutching each other in alarm.

"Who's there?" Ron demanded, his voice a tad squeakier than usual.

A man's naked torso appeared from behind the trees as they turned. Hermione blinked in startled confusion, taking a moment to process firstly that it was a centaur, and secondly that it was someone she knew.

"Quite a limiting spell, don't you think?" Magorian prompted smoothly, his deep voice simultaneously impatient and indifferent. "Inconceivably arrogant of you," he added, as Hermione's gaze flicked from his haughty, proud face to his quiverful of arrows.

"Magorian," she broached anxiously, hoping - illogically, as she knew better - that he did not hold a grudge from the last time they'd seen each other. "How - how are you?"

"You know each other?" Ron whispered anxiously in her ear.

"Not well," she murmured back, biting her lip apprehensively. Magorian had been willing to spare her last time, two years ago, when he still considered her a child; but now, surely the same could not be said. He would not find her a foal by any estimation.

"What are you doing here?" Magorian asked, crossing his arms. Hermione looked around nervously, catching the forms of four or five other centaurs as they appeared from behind the trees; she recognized Ronan, who had been among the more indulgent from their last encounter, but she also saw Bane, the hard-faced grey centaur for whom she had certainly _not_ managed to say the right things.

"Um," Hermione said slowly, "I - " she broke off, looking at Ron, who nodded encouragingly. "I was just trying to, um - "

Ronan's gloomy, doleful voice cut in, disrupting her floundering thoughts. "Magorian," he said quietly, addressing the member of his herd, "do you not recognize her?"

At that, Hermione had to fight a painful gulp of fear. "I'm so sorry," she said quickly, "I know that the last time we encountered each other, I was somewhat" - she broke off, looking again at Ron, who was, predictably, no help at all - "er, _ignorant_ , I suppose would be the best word - "

"You know as well as I the stars have changed, Magorian," Ronan continued mournfully, ignoring her. "Things are not as we foresaw."

"You think she is the girl?" Bane scoffed gruffly, drawing himself up and pawing agitatedly at the ground. "But this is not the boy."

"No," Magorian agreed, narrowing his eyes. "This is certainly not the boy."

"I don't know why," Ron whispered in Hermione's ear, "but I think I might be insulted."

"The truth is," Hermione ventured, shrugging free of Ron's grip on her arm and attempting to be gentler than she'd been in the past, "we are here because - "

 _God, it still hurt to think about._

"Because," she sighed, closing her eyes briefly as she took a preparatory breath, "we are looking for - "

"Hermione?"

Her eyes fluttered open, recognizing the voice.

"No," she whispered, reaching back for Ron; he, too, was dumbfounded, his arm limp in her grasp. "Ron," she said, forgetting the centaurs entirely in her breathless disbelief. "Ron, tell me that isn't - "

"Don't worry, guys," Harry said amicably to the centaurs, offering a small, respectful bow to Magorian before turning back to his friends, grinning. "I've got this one."

* * *

 _ **2005 (Present)**_

* * *

Hermione opened her eyes slowly; the fire had dwindled to ash, and Draco's shallow breaths were warm against her ear. For a moment she didn't move, rendered frozen by the amount of light that streamed in through the window; it took a moment for her to catch her breath, squinting as the sun warmed the carpet beside her.

Her initial thought upon adjusting to the light was to consider that the room was very much _him_. It was sparsely decorated, but every item in the room practically gleamed with wealth, all of it - from the richly embroidered rug to the jewel-toned upholstery of a set of Victorian looking high-backed chairs - nearly as gilded as he was.

Her second thought, which she made a point to cling to, was that she should not make the very foolish mistake of thinking she knew him well enough to make those types of assertions.

"Where do you think he was?"

She turned with a sharp inhale, meeting Harry's questioning glance.

"I don't know," she said slowly, glancing over Draco's sleeping form. "He did not feel the need to inform me."

"Surely you must have a guess," Harry suggested, reaching one hand out to nudge her encouragingly. He was sitting cross-legged beside her, his head tilted curiously. "It's not like you to not have some thoughts on the matter."

She sighed, making an effort to sit up. "Well," she ventured, glancing down at the fresh scar on Draco's abdomen as she propped herself up on her elbows, "given the wood, somewhere with trees, I expect."

She gave Harry a particularly impudent smirk and he, in exchange, offered her a withering look. "Enjoy that, did you?" he asked sarcastically. "Feeling clever?"

"Stupid question, stupid answer," she supplied, shrugging.

He chuckled. "It wasn't actually a stupid question," he informed her, giving her a knowing look.

She ignored him.

"I thought about the centaurs again," she said instead, remembering. She turned to look at Harry. "I'd forgotten what they said to me right before we found you."

"Which part?" Harry asked.

"The part where they knew who I was," Hermione recalled thoughtfully.

"You'd met before," Harry reminded her. "Umbridge, remember? And first year, with Hagrid."

"Right," Hermione agreed softly, nodding. "But they didn't seem to mean it that way."

He lifted a questioning eyebrow. "You think they meant, like" - he gestured unconvincingly - "prophetically? Like, the planets, or something?"

 _Mars is bright tonight_ , she thought, biting back a smile.

"Did they ever say anything to you?" Hermione asked, still trying to remember. "I didn't see them again after we set up camp."

"Initially they did," Harry said slowly, and Hermione recalled having discussed it with him once before; sometime during the good days, she thought with a sigh, picturing the three of them laughing beside the campfire.

"I had thought it was just that you had been kind to them in the past," Hermione said slowly, "but there was more, wasn't there?" She felt her pulse quicken, like she was tripping over something she'd forgotten. "There was something else, something about _you_ \- " she paused, looking sharply at him. "They helped you because they knew you were part of something, didn't they?"

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but promptly shut it as Draco stirred, his eyes slowly opening. Draco seemed startled for a moment, looking around like he'd forgotten where he was; he moved to sit up and promptly stiffened, wincing through his pain.

"Fuck me," he muttered, reaching to grip his side. "Fucking - _ouch_."

Hermione glanced warningly at Harry; he nodded his understanding, shifting behind her and fading from view.

"Here," she offered, reaching behind her for the small bottle of Dittany and handing it to Draco. "You'll want more of that."

"Thanks," Draco muttered, struggling to sit up. He looked around the room, looking a bit like his mind was still swimming. "Were you talking to someone?"

"No," Hermione said, not meeting his eye. _No one here._

He looked for a moment like he might question her further, but was obviously distracted by his own discomfort. "Fuck, this is going to be a struggle," he said, grimacing in pain.

She offered him a sympathetic glance, but opted not to speak.

"If you feel inclined to be less incapacitated, now would be the time," he mumbled gruffly - though not unkindly, she noted. "Going to have to - " he broke off, tipping back slightly as he tried to force himself to his feet. "Or not," he sighed, thinking better of his efforts and instead opting to reach into his pocket for his wand.

Hermione's breath caught for a moment as he withdrew it; it had been so long since she'd last held a wand, she realized, her gaze drifting mournfully to the thin curves of the wood. She barely remembered the last spell she'd cast but she could never forget the feel of it under her fingers; it was always like the first time, like the day in Ollivander's, like the day she'd heard the words that changed her life - _you're a witch, Hermione_ \- and she ached for it, the magic rushing through her veins -

 _And to think_ , she realized, the thought bleeding slowly into her consciousness, _the whole time, it was right there . . ._

He seemed to feel her staring and he glanced at her, his grey eyes narrowing in a vaguely fearful curiosity. She instantly averted her eyes, hoping he had not chosen that moment to try legilimency on her. She suspected he would not appreciate the momentary visual she'd had - _wand in her hand, air in her lungs, feet pounding on pavement -_

Not that she could go anywhere. Not in this world.

Not without him.

 _For practical purposes, of course_ , she amended quickly, remembering life on the run with a hazy grimace. This was no longer a world she knew how to navigate.

She held her breath as he moved to raise his wand and stopped, his face contorting in pain as he made to push himself up and wave it in a single, disjointed motion; instinctively she reached out, resting her hand gently on his shoulder.

"Can you?" she asked softly, trailing off as his eyes met hers.

For a moment he simply stared at her, his expression etched with misery, hardened with pain and doubt; she met his gaze without looking away.

 _I can help you._

He said nothing. She spoke volumes.

 _I want to help you._

After a moment he seemed to soften, his eyes scanning her face like he was looking for meaning in it; for a moment he seemed to find it, and she wondered if he would.

If he would offer her the wand; if he would let her take it -

If he would close the space between them; she could feel already his breath ghosting across her lips. If he wanted to, he could just -

She blinked, unable to decide what she longed for more. She couldn't determine which of her wants was more enticing; couldn't distinguish which need had prompted the rush of blood in her ears or the shiver up her spine. She waited, breathless, wondering if he _would_.

And then there was a loud tap at the window behind them as an owl appeared, rapping its beak unceremoniously against the glass.

"Fuck," Draco swore, flinching at the interruption; Hermione pressed a hand to her chest, trying to soothe the vigorous thudding in her chest.

 _Foolish_ , she thought, scolding herself. The breath she'd been holding escaped her lips in a shallow, startled sigh that was, in a single exhale, both disappointment and relief.

* * *

Draco dragged his gaze away from Granger's lips and flicked his wand towards the window, grunting a little at the twisting motion but reminding himself he'd have no choice later on; he'd have to hide the injury if he meant to carry on without suspicion. The owl gave a low, disapproving hoot but consented to bring him the envelope, dropping it in his lap and then giving a haughty shake before departing.

He shouldn't have been surprised by its contents; in fact, perhaps he wasn't.

 _The Manor. This evening._

 _You had better be able to explain._

 _LM_

He groaned, throwing the note aside. An explanation was the one thing he decidedly did _not_ have, which meant he would have to track down Theo first.

He shifted his weight away from Granger, trying to force himself upright; he managed to stand with an audible growl of pain, leaning onto an ivory Baroque side table that was about as sturdy as he was. Granger, for her part, watched him closely before coming to her feet. She rose shakily; but still, she managed it.

 _We always rise_ , he thought, watching the determination in her expression and trying not to openly marvel.

"I have some errands to run," he muttered, trying not to think of her fingers as they fluttered uncertainly towards her lips; either of them digging into his hips, embedding themselves in his skin, or resting delicately on his chest, held tightly in his. "If you can make it upstairs I'll bring you something," he added, a little hoarsely. His voice was gruff and chalky and he swallowed, forcing himself not to be distracted by the way she was looking at him.

Not that he succeeded. She stared, and he stared back.

"Yes?" he prompted.

She considered him for a moment before speaking.

"Don't apparate," she said, and something in him leapt at the instructiveness of her tone. For a moment he pictured her as he remembered her, in the scarlet gleam in her school robes; oddly, in the back of his mind he heard Slughorn's voice: _take twenty points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger!_

"Why not?" he asked, pointedly fighting a smile for purposes of experimentation.

She frowned. "You're hurt," she noted, making a tiny, delicate gesture to his wound. "You shouldn't apparate."

"Why not?" he asked again, stepping towards her. It was a challenge, he decided; he wondered again if she would rise, stopping inches away from where she stood.

"Apparition while injured is foolish," she mumbled, her brows furrowed, "you'll only - "

She looked up, recognizing his proximity to her and cutting herself off.

"Why not?" he murmured softly, holding his breath.

Her eyes met his. "You could get hurt," she whispered, raising a hand and placing it carefully on his chest.

For a moment he wondered if she would lean towards him; he half-swayed towards her as though a breeze in the room had compelled him but then she lightly nudged him back, pushing him away.

He stared after her as she walked, making her way slowly to the stairs. She only looked back once, a moment before ascending the first step, her face thoughtful and calm; he opened his mouth to say something - he didn't know what - but before he did, she'd turned away, leaning on the banister as she gradually disappeared from sight.

* * *

Hermione heard footsteps behind her and recognized the sound of his long, even stride. She closed her eyes, still fighting the pang of something sharp and painful in her chest.

"You know you can't trust him."

She sighed, turning away from their campsite to face him. "Bill," she offered quietly.

"Don't forget what he is," Bill warned, taking her wrist to pull her into his arms. "Don't forget what he's done," he said in her ear, his lips brushing against her hair.

"It wasn't him," she argued, but she consented to rest her cheek against his chest. "He wasn't the one who killed her."

Every thought of Fleur was filled with tension. Regret, always; she'd never particularly cared for the other woman. Followed by guilt.

Followed by envy, she thought, filling her nose with the sharp, oaky smell of him.

"He's got their Mark on his wrist," Bill reminded her. "He believes what they believe."

 _You cling to righteousness of blood, but in the end, don't you still bleed?_

She pictured Draco's blood and fought a rush of something she couldn't identify; she chose instead to shake the thought away.

"I know you miss her," Hermione sighed tangentially.

She'd intended to be sympathetic, but Bill pulled away in fury, his face contorted in anguish. "I don't _miss_ her," he spat, glaring at her like she'd said something unforgivable; like she'd deigned to make a triviality of his pain.

"A part of me died with her," he informed her, gripping her chin tightly in his hand. "A piece of me is _gone_ because of her."

Hermione looked down, feeling the sting of what she'd always known. The twisted love of someone broken had never made anyone whole.

He, seeming to recognize the impact of his words, pulled her towards him again, softening. "Everything else I had I gave to you," he whispered to her, but by then she was stiff and rigid in his arms.

 _Imagine if that had ever been enough_ , she thought, but the idea was laughable. She said nothing.

"He may not have spoken the _Avada_ , but he killed her," Bill continued, still intent on lecturing. "He and everyone like him. He and everyone who believed what they did." His voice was angry and cold.

"And me," he added softly, an afterthought. "For not being there."

An unhealthy view of things. Not that she thought it was worth anything to say so; not that she hadn't said so countless times before.

"Don't ask me to hate him," Hermione said instead, thinking of the iron flash in Draco's eyes, his breath on her lips.

"You should," Bill returned, his voice low with animosity. "If not for her sake, then for yours."

"Things are different," Hermione reminded him, pulling away to look him in the eye. "We are not the only ones who've suffered."

If she'd expected empathy, she could see she'd been a fool. She found none.

"Good," Bill spat venomously, not looking at her. "Let him suffer too. Let him suffer like I suffered. Let him suffer like _you_ suffered."

When his blue eyes fixed on hers she felt a slow, icy frost course through her veins, the force of it infecting her lungs and reducing her to silence.

"Don't you dare forget what you've been through," he reminded her, his voice just above a whisper. "Don't you dare forget everything they took from you. When you are adding the sum of his parts, don't you dare discount the brand of hatred he let them burn into his arm."

"I don't," she murmured, half-defensively. "I wouldn't."

Bill was watching her now; she waited, dreading whatever came next.

"I loved you," he said, and she felt a lurch in her chest at the words; it would have been hope, it would have been satisfaction, but the look in his eyes, piercing and cold, was chilling and ominous. He wasn't done, and she waited.

"I wasn't good to you or for you, but I gave you what I had," he said quietly, "and you took it." She shuddered, suffering the blow of the statement. "Don't forget that I taught you how to take."

"Bill," Hermione said, aghast. "How can you - "

"Take what you need and _nothing else_ ," Bill interrupted, pressing his lips to her cheek. "I know you can," he whispered, and she thought she might cry. "I taught you how."

* * *

Draco stepped out of the floo, teeth gritted; the pain had gotten worse throughout the morning and it was becoming increasingly clear that it would take more than Dittany to get him through this injury.

"Theo," he choked out, gripping the mantle and doubling over slightly. "Theo, get me - "

"For the pain, Lord Malfoy," Theo offered smoothly, rising from the sofa to hand him a small vial. "How are you?"

Draco shook his head miserably before removing the stopper, tossing his head back and grimacing as the potion trudged its way down his throat. "Tremendous," he determined grimly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"About as expected," Theo agreed, shrugging. "Did she use the Dittany?"

" _You_ gave her that?" Draco asked, startled.

"Unless she brewed her own," Theo countered obnoxiously. Draco glared at him.

"Did you talk to her?" he demanded, feeling at once a rush of relief as the potion's effects settled in and a wave of dread at the idea that Granger would have withheld information from him. "Did you - "

"Let me interrupt you right there and remind you that not only did I _save your fucking life_ ," Theo declared, a little too smugly for Draco to fully appreciate the statement, "but I _also_ dealt with our mess from yesterday." He looked pointedly at Draco. "And you didn't even think to bring me flowers."

"Thanks," Draco grunted.

"For?" Theo prompted, crossing his arms and waiting.

"For the life saving and the mess cleaning," Draco mumbled, sighing petulantly. "But," he began emphatically, remembering the knot in his stomach, "did you talk to her? Because - "

"Are you going to ask me about what I went through on your behalf yesterday?" Theo replied, looking more entertained at Draco's expense than Draco would particularly wish him to be. "Personally, I would have a few other things on my mind."

"Must not have been too difficult if you can sit here being all Theo about it," Draco muttered, moving past Theo to collapse on the sofa, already exhausted with the prospect.

"There were some falsehoods," Theo supplied, nudging him aside and taking a seat. "A number of half-truths, a bit of blatant fuckery - "

"What did you say?" Draco prompted, rolling his eyes. "Just - _out_ with it, would you?"

"Lucky for us," Theo said obligingly, "One Blaise Zabini, Potionmaster Extraordinaire, was _also_ not able to account for some of his time before returning to the castle. For personal reasons." His laughing gaze flicked to Draco's.

"Okay," Draco said indifferently.

"Because he was fucking Warrington," Theo supplied unnecessarily.

"I gathered," Draco sighed, shaking his head. "So, what then? You had Blaise lie for us?"

"Oh, don't make me sound so dirty," Theo sniffed. "It was a group lie. Mutually beneficial."

"I doubt Blaise was happy about necessitating a group lie," Draco commented, laughing inwardly despite the situation being fairly humorless.

"He decidedly was _not_ ," Theo agreed, shrugging. "I was able to get to him before anyone at the Ministry checked into the missed portkey, though. Bureaucracy," he added, shaking his head. "You'd think a despotic overlord would fucking speed things up a bit, but no."

"Theo," Draco warned.

"Anyway," Theo continued briskly, "I was able to alert Blaise that we had missed the portkey and apparated illegally from Hogsmeade, and he vouched for us. Said we'd all collectively lost track of time. Something real fucking smooth like that."

"And that's it?" Draco prompted. "What, a slap on the wrist?"

"Well, aside from owing Blaise favors for the rest of my surely unpleasant life, I think we managed," Theo confirmed. " _Only_ ," he added, his green eyes suddenly uncharacteristically serious, "if nothing else contributes to our folder of misdeeds."

"'Folder of misdeeds'?" Draco echoed dubiously. "Is that a thing?"

He expected a continuation of Theo's usual banter - _there was a folder and some fucking misdeeds, so yeah, Draco, I think the phrase is appropriate -_ but was surprised to find the other man had sobered considerably, and was now leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

"Draco," Theo said. "We can't fuck up again."

Those words coming from Theo had a silencing effect; Draco said nothing.

"Wherever you look next, I can't be there," Theo said, turning to look at him. "I'm sorry, but there were a lot of fucking lies. A _lot_ of fucking suspicion, and that's before they work out the timing of Smith's disappearance. Though that may not be for a while," he admitted. "Fucker's not exactly top priority."

"This is a jarring change in attitude," Draco commented uncomfortably.

"There's eyes on us now," Theo said flatly. "We dig ourselves any deeper and we are not coming out of this unscathed."

 _Cursed from birth, and we taught ourselves to hide._

"So that's it, then," Draco sighed, leaning his head back. He'd tried, hadn't he? Redemption was a privilege, not a right. He supposed he should be satisfied with the effort. Dreamless sleep potion could do the rest.

"Not for you," Theo scoffed.

Draco turned his head sharply. "What?"

"This isn't it for you. You heard those centaurs," Theo noted with a grimace. " _It is foretold_ ," he mimicked, his voice low and gloomy.

"I didn't hear anything," Draco corrected, sitting up sharply. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"That's why they let us go," Theo said, eyes narrowed in disbelief. "You really didn't know?"

"I wasn't exactly fucking functional at the time," Draco returned, scowling. "They let us go?"

"Did you think I just muscled us out of there?" Theo asked, throwing his head back with a loud, barking laugh. "Oh, that's excellent. Fucking _excellent._ "

"Would you quit _twatting around_ and tell me what the fu- "

"Grey horse told brown horse," Theo began, then paused. "Or no, wait, maybe the other way around - "

Draco glared at him.

"Right," Theo said. "So. One of them showed up and said they couldn't kill us because _you_ were part of some kind of - I don't know, prophesied event," he ventured, shrugging. "Something about being steeped in sun, and things being written in stars - "

"Steeped in sun?" Draco repeated. _A boy, so steeped in sun -_

"Inaccurate, I think, considering you're pale as fuck," Theo said impassively, "but yes. So they let us go." He paused thoughtfully. "Well, there was _some_ muscling on my part, as they hadn't fully decided on it, but the call for pause was really the important thing."

"What does this have to do with anything?" Draco asked impatiently. "Why would that mean that I have to - "

"Draco, you are _written in the stars,_ " Theo repeated adamantly, not that Draco found the repetition helpful. "These centaurs, they read planets - they fucking, I don't know, see the future," he said emphatically. "You're fucking _prophesied,_ you're - you're fucking _foretold -_ "

"Then I'll still be foretold, whether I chase the ghost of Potter or not," Draco grunted back. "You can't possibly think this is helpful," he added, making a face.

"You found Granger," Theo reminded him. "You _stumbled_ on her, and then she led you to the Forbidden Forest - "

"To a death trap," he mumbled.

" - to a _near_ death trap," Theo corrected, "where a bunch of future-reading centaurs _spared your life -_ "

"Fucking centaurs - "

" - because you're _part of something,_ " Theo determined firmly. " _Foretold_ , Draco. You know what else was foretold?"

Draco sighed. "What?"

"The Chosen One," Theo concluded triumphantly, with the highly deluded air - in Draco's opinion - of someone having woven something of substance together. "Potter. You've got to be part of something with _Potter_."

"That's a leap," Draco pointed out instantly. "You don't know that. They didn't say that."

Theo shrugged. "I inferred."

"Possibly incorrectly," Draco countered. "You're not a centaur. Your view on the future is bollocks at best."

"I'm also brilliant," Theo reminded him, and Draco rolled his eyes. "And onto something."

"Questionable," Draco muttered, though he paused, considering it. There _was_ a certain curiosity involved; and the phrase, the same one on Granger's lips - _a boy so steeped in sun -_

Theo waited, smirking. Clearly he thought he'd been convincing. Draco sighed impatiently.

"I'd have to know what the fuck they foretold," Draco said slowly, not wanting to spare Theo any credit. "And there's no way I can go back there."

"No, you definitely can't," Theo agreed. "Not without raising a thousand red flags."

"So what, then?" Draco demanded. "What am I supposed to do with your insane fucking theory if I can't even - "

"They're not the only ones who can read the future," Theo interrupted. "They're not even the only centaurs." He was looking meaningfully at Draco. "Perhaps," he added brightly, "there might be someone else who could _divine_ some answers."

Draco rolled his eyes. "What, you mean the Divination instructor?" he scoffed. "Firenze?" Theo nodded, still inappropriately smug. Clearly he had been thinking about this, and to Draco's obvious detriment. "Where would I even find him?"

"Don't know," Theo supplied unhelpfully. "It's a quest."

"Fuck you," Draco said instantly, a gut reaction; then paused. "You really think he's still alive?"

"They seem like a clever bunch, centaurs," Theo offered, shrugging. "I don't see why not."

In spite of himself, Draco looked down in thought. "You don't think - "

" - Granger knows where he is? Don't know," Theo said, grinning mercilessly. "But it seems worth finding out, don't you think?"

Draco sighed, wondering if Granger might have somehow already told him in her cryptic way. Princesses, monsters, fairies; he was starting to lose track of the pieces. He bent over, resting his head between his knees and groaning.

"You should go," Theo realized, glancing up at the clock. "Lucius will be waiting."

"Fuck Lucius," Draco muttered. "I have no fucking idea what I'll tell him."

He pictured Granger's face, her hesitation on the stair, before seeing his father's sneering glare waver at the forefront of his mind. _Fail, and you're no son of mine._

"Hey," Theo said, nudging him with his shoulder. "Another thing: don't get attached."

"What?" Draco asked, raising his head and frowning.

"Don't get attached," Theo repeated. "You know who she was. She's not stupid."

 _Ah_ , Draco thought. _Granger_. He remained silent, thinking of her hand on his chest, the light in her eyes. Her fingers, so cool and comforting in his.

"She's not stupid," Theo said again, standing up and gripping Draco's shoulder, pulling him to his feet. "She was smarter than you in school, and now she's seven years older and she's lived through hell. There's a very real chance that it will come down to her life or yours, and you don't know who she is," he warned. "You have no idea what she's made of."

Draco shivered a little at the words.

 _Yes, fucker. We always rise._

He thought of her fingers digging into his hips. The cold flash in her eyes. The lingering hunger when she looked at his wand.

 _This is a woman, not a girl._

 _This is a woman, and someone made her cold._

Draco shifted uncomfortably, the pain in his side beginning to resume its ache. "What makes you think I'd get attached?" he asked airily, aiming for indifference.

Theo grimaced. "Ask me again if I spoke to her," he suggested.

Something in Draco's chest roared angrily at the thought and he looked away, sickened. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Theo smile.

"I didn't," Theo supplied, crossing his arms over his chest. "But consider my point made."

* * *

Hermione curled around herself in her bed, staring into darkness.

"Don't tell me you chose to be here," Harry said, looking around the room.

"I did," she replied flatly, burrowing deeper in the blankets and breathing in the faint gardenia scent. "I don't want to remember anything right now."

"You'll have to," Harry said, firm in his gentle way. "You know that."

She sighed. "I don't want to talk to you."

"Who then?" Harry asked.

She shut her eyes. _Someone real._

 _Draco._

"No one," she replied, but then looked up, seeing sorrow stained in his bright green eyes. "I didn't mean it," she amended after a moment, and he nodded.

"It's okay," he said softly. "It's hard for you."

"I miss you," she informed him. "But - "

"I know," he agreed. "I know."

* * *

Draco's jaw ached from grinding his teeth in pain; he held his hand tightly at his side, fist clenched.

"Draco," Lucius continued, still pacing the floor, "you have no idea the mess you have created, by virtue of your idiocy, you cast doubt on my own tireless service - "

"It was careless," Draco provided, barely able to speak through the dull, throbbing ache. Did he have potions at home? Surely somewhere. "Irresponsible, yes, but nothing for you to concern yourself with over your reputation, Father - "

"Do you think me a fool, Draco?" Lucius snapped, rounding on him. Draco flinched, looking away. "Do you think there is even a _breath you take_ that does not serve to threaten my reputation?"

Draco swallowed an angry retort, shoving brusquely at his festering resentment. "No."

"And furthermore," Lucius continued, ranting loudly, "do you think I don't see a connection between you claiming the mudblood and then stirring things at the Ministry?" His grey eyes hardened. "Only a week later, Draco, and you think I don't notice?"

"If you see something that concerns you," Draco managed, trying to inconspicuously lean into the pain at his side, "by all means, share."

"I don't know if you are intentionally being obtuse or if you have actually surrendered your faculties to some unknown brain hemorrhage, but I have no patience for your games, Draco," Lucius spat angrily. "You have reflected poorly on me and I will not tolerate it. I cannot sit idly by and watch you - "

"I'm looking for Potter," Draco interrupted, sensing hopelessness and desiring beyond words to exit the conversation. "Granger mentioned he'd lived in the Forest and I was following his tracks."

Lucius paused, mouth still open. "What?"

"She's giving me information and I'm looking for him," Draco repeated, wondering if he was committing a terrible misstep, but choosing to forge ahead blindly. "I'm retracing his steps, and they started in the forest."

"Did you find anything?" Lucius hissed, at once visibly conflicted with his own perverse interest and his pre-existing anger.

"Not yet," Draco said lamely, bringing a hand to his forehead.

"So she's told you he's alive?" Lucius prompted, breathless.

"Yes," Draco lied. _What are you doing, Draco; have you fucking thought this through?_

Lucius's eyes glinted hungrily. "Have you tried - "

"I know what I'm doing, Father," Draco interrupted bluntly, deciding this was as good a time as any to make an unapologetic exit. He turned on his heel, heading for the fireplace.

"Draco," Lucius called after him. "Draco, if you fail me - "

He didn't need to hear the end of the sentence.

 _If nothing comes of this, I'll be the one to kill her._

 _Fail, and you're no son of mine._

Draco muttered his address into the Floo and walked into the fireplace, not looking back.

* * *

"He's home," Harry commented, looking up at the sound. "Are you ready?"

"I hate this," Hermione whispered, but held her breath as light flooded in through the door.

* * *

She was curled up on the bed and he wondered if he had betrayed her.

 _There's a very real chance that it will come down to her life or yours, and you don't know who she is._

 _You have no idea what she's made of._

Didn't he, though?

"It hurts," he told her, and she lifted her chin, looking at him. He waited for her to speak, but she didn't; instead she shifted over, making room for him on the bed.

He sighed, flinching as he moved to lie beside her, turning to look her in the eye.

"Once," she whispered, "there was a sweet little maid, beloved by all; she believed herself fortunate, and glorified in righteousness, and thought herself set apart by virtue, her bravery undiminished by trouble or circumstance."

"Gryffindors," Draco muttered, and he thought he caught a flicker of a smile.

"The maid had a dear friend whom she loved deeply, who lived a ways from the village; and one day, the maid set out to visit her. On her path, she came across a wolf; but knowing, as she did, an absence of fear, she bade him no greeting, nor spared him any concern. She knew well of wolves in the forest, but in her unfailing courage, did not mistake herself at risk."

 _Forests again,_ he thought, wincing as he shifted towards her; he pressed a hand to his side, determining he was no longer a fan of trees.

"The wolf, however, recognized her, and knowing of the maid by name. He sought her out, stalking her as she traveled, intent to set upon her as she ventured into the forest. He stole into the cabin in the woods, and ate up the maid's dear love, sparing no word, nor a breath of contrition. Then the wolf sat in wait, his true prize yet to be devoured."

She looked pained, as she always did, and he wondered for the first time how much these stories hurt her. _You have no idea what she's made of._

"When the maid appeared in the cabin, she recognized immediately the presence of the wolf, for she was more than righteous; she was clever and cunning herself. As the wolf made to consume her, she turned cold, recognizing her loss, and she turned her anger at the wolf, slitting his throat in vengeance. But the spirit of the wolf entered her, and the maid grew withdrawn, and enflamed with contempt; and in her loss, she turned her life to the hunt, her heart cold as ice in her chest."

She sat up at that, and he mirrored her motion, something in her gaze drawing him towards her. Her hair rested on the thin frame of her shoulders and he reached out, twining a loose curl around his finger.

"I'm sorry," he said, emptied of everything but remorse and pain and a furious, maddening _want_.

"You should be," she murmured, before brushing her lips against his.

 _Alas, he thought, shivering in the night; did his courage amount to but a trick of sunlight on his brain? Was he nothing more than a toy, tossed between the light and the dark? Oh he was, he thought, he was; and what a poor contemptible creature for it._

* * *

 **a/n:** special thanks to drsallysparrow, her friend Bonnie, and a box of Greek wine. Inspiration from _Little Red Riding Hood_ by the Brothers Grimm. This chapter is dedicated to LittleChmura in honor of our Super Secret Thing™ . . . which you will be hearing more about soon.


	10. The Reluctant Hero

**Chapter 10: The Reluctant Hero**

 _The day boy, having resolved to wade through the hazards of the dark, took a great blow from his efforts, brought low by his hazardous expeditions; the grand health, the blessed constitution over which the monster had taken such pains - blessing him with light, and showering him with favor - yielded, and he found himself in pain and misery, a victim of his own wandering. His fears grew rampant and unchecked, for he trembled in the prospect of the monster's rage; he feared that should the monster discover he had been victim to his own deficiencies, the monster might grow angry, and angrier still at the gaping fractures in his sun-drenched benediction. For the day boy's weakness would surely have meant the monster's own failure, and then the monster would slowly grow to hate and mistrust him, looking on him as an artist would his wretched canvas - enflamed with disappointment - and seek to destroy his own work._

 _This was the day boy's fear, but it was only one among many; he was hardly the live thunderbolt he had once been. For in his trials he had known companionship, and felt compelled to fealty in his afflictions; and as much as he feared the wretched shadows of the night, it was within the dark that he had come to know something, a truth brighter than any other he'd been taught; a glimmer of goodness, which lit his soul more radiantly than the sun; and it was the loss of this, out of any, that the day boy feared most._

 _The day boy, cast out of favor, looked upon the night girl, seemingly with new eyes, and wondered if in his fear he had wronged her; "Thank you," he said, though gratitude did not come easily, and had never been taught. "You are like live armor to my heart; you keep the fear off me."_

* * *

Out of everything he had endured, she was the purest form of torture, and he felt himself shatter, twisted and contorted in the delicateness of her grasp, the moment her lips meant his.

 _I want this,_ he thought, _take me, lay me to waste, confine me to rubble, let me amount to nothing but this -_

There was a sureness about her, a certainty that belied the exquisite fragility of her movements; she leaned into him as naturally as she breathed and he drew her in, and she was in his arms, and he held her like he could draw time to a close - like he could force it, kicking and screaming in its petulance, to trap him in its clutches and pull the shades around them, so that _he'd never have to fucking feel anything else_ but her lips against his.

It was slow melancholy, syrupy sweetness; between the pounding in his chest and rushing in his ears he abandoned his capacity to think, her hands traveling slowly up his arms and over his shoulders, coming to rest around the carved edge of his cheek. There was a thoughtfulness to their placement, a spirit of intention, like she'd looked at his face before and wondered _what would it be like to touch him?_ and finally given in, shivering as the pads of her fingers brushed against the strike of his jaw.

He pulled her against him. _Lay me to waste._

She pulsed and shimmered in his arms. _Confine me to rubble._

Every touch an apology, every breath a request - _let me amount to nothing but this -_ and he yearned, and he ached, and for every kiss in his life that had been born of greed and selfishness and petty craving, each one was left a laughing sin in the wake of this. Of her.

There was a push then, a shift; a lurch. _More,_ said her hands on his skin, _more_ , said his hips against hers, _more,_ begged the space between them - and then a voice that rang in his mind -

 _You don't know what she's made of._

A crushing truth. A remorseless bite of reality.

"Stop," he murmured, eyes still closed.

He was emptied. _I'm sorry._

She was cold. _You should be._

She pulled away slowly and he felt the rush of air between them like a slice to the throat; the savagery of her absence. The immensity of their separation. It hung heavy and still and he suffered beneath it but knew he was right. Knew, somewhere, he had missed something in her words, missed something in her intent, and was set upon now to find it. To not be destroyed by her.

By his need for her.

She didn't need to say anything. He turned his back - the only way he could leave, for surely her eyes would have rooted him to the spot - and left, padding softly out of the room, clutching the still-throbbing ache at his side and feeling broken beyond repair.

* * *

For the briefest moment she wondered what it would have been like if things had been different. If things had deviated half a step over the course of time; if instead of this, the mangled determination of her conscience that gave way to a foolish, incapacitating yearning - this, a nothing-kiss with a stranger she could only half trust - she might have seen it take place elsewhere. Instead of this strange, half-willing captivity, she might have kissed him in a castle alcove, or a wooded clearing; she pictured her life in flashes and glimpses and tried to fit him in, tried to put the bitter sweetness of his touch against the backdrop of a life she might have lived, where instead of _right_ and _wrong_ and _dark_ and _light_ she might have come to know _him_. To wake with the knowledge of what made his pulse race, what made him growl in her ear with satisfaction.

To know what made him weak, and what made him wild.

But then he was gone, and he was right, and she knew it, and she fought the urge to mourn for him, for herself; for her stunning dearth of knowledge about who he was, and for everything in their lives that had contributed to the vastness of her ignorance. That she did not recognize the look in his eye. That she couldn't translate the meaning of his retreat.

That they were strangers. Despite whatever tricks the pulsing in her chest could play on her, that much was true, and he was gone, and he was right, and she _knew it._

"What was that?" Harry said loudly, and she sighed, wishing she could shove him, or throw something. A piece of her wanted to do something childish, if only to feel something break under her grasp.

"Me taking what I need," Hermione muttered, not wanting to discuss it. "I thought that was obvious."

"That's not what that was. You're lying to me," Harry informed her. "And you're lying to yourself."

"What do you want me to say?" she countered angrily, feeling stiff and helpless in her maddening confusion. She turned her back on him, drawing her knees to her chest, wishing she could be rid of him. Or be with him; anything but this punishing in-between.

"Oh, he's a twat but he means well," she heard behind her. "He just wants you to be careful who you trust."

Hermione's heart stopped momentarily and she turned slowly over her shoulder, holding her breath.

"Ginny?" she asked, catching the flash of red and promptly twisting around to face her.

"Obviously," Ginny said, lounging against the pillows and tucking herself in beside Hermione. She always had such an incomprehensible ability to make herself at home. "I'm probably the best person for this job, don't you think?"

Hermione sighed. "I suppose you are."

* * *

Draco paced the floor of his study, feeling an urgent need for movement that was simultaneously rooted in some crude, inexplicable desire to remain. It was far too late to go anywhere, of course, even if he wanted to leave her.

 _Leave,_ he corrected himself, determinedly detracting _her_ from the statement.

He grunted his discomfort over the still-inhibiting wound and walked over to his desk before pausing, recalling with a sigh that he and Theo had drunk the last of his firewhiskey reserves, and he'd been too distracted to replace it. _Times like these,_ he thought morosely. _These were the times that called for house elves._

And then he winced, remembering the woman upstairs and the girl she'd once been.

In his directionless waffling he wandered over to his bookshelf and pulled a heavy leather volume from the shelf, one that he'd never thought to open before; it was a prerequisite for every Sacred Twenty-Eight home, a gift from the Dark Lord himself.

 _Victorem: The Reign of Lord Voldemort._

He flipped it open, wondering how many poor fools had been _gently_ required to contribute to it, to the thousands of pages of history rewritten for his pleasure. An entire world recast in the arc of his triumph. Even Draco, who was certainly guilty of similitude in the wake of his own ego, had felt his stomach lurch at the unfettered distaste of the Dark Lord's vanity. _History,_ he thought. _Surely it was not so easily reconfigured?_

A foolish consideration, in retrospect. History was always written by the victors.

What, then, was he?

He flipped the book open, testing the weight of the pages between his fingers; the Dark Lord had not been sparing with his evolution of purebloods, and the entire volume read like a tribute to Draco's family tree. He saw his mother's name and shuddered, nearly upending the book, but quickly flipped toward the end, looking for something.

 _The Dark Lord pushed the boundaries of magic, making himself invincible against the threatening clutches of death. Despite being tested at the first peak of his victorious eminence_ \- killed by an infant, more accurately, Draco thought with a scoff - _his Lordship returned, building yet a greater regime, with an ascendancy so unanimously unquestioned that could scarcely have been fathomable; indeed, the likes of which history had never seen -_

Draco slammed the book shut, somehow furious with the unutterable ludicrousness of the text; which, of course, should not have surprised him in the slightest. He shook his head at himself and reopened the book, skimming the pages.

No mention of Potter. Certainly no mention of Granger, or Weasley, or any of the others. No Order of the Phoenix. Nothing even of Dumbledore except of his death, orchestrated by the Dark Lord himself - Draco's name omitted, and Snape's - as though the only thing that existed of the life that Draco had lived had been Lord Voldemort's imagined achievements, the proficiency of which Draco wondered if the Dark Lord himself even believed. Is this how he remembered it? Had he truly deluded himself so fully?

 _No_ , Draco thought, remembering the Dark Lord's continued railing over Potter's reappearance. The bodies on the floor when Potter resurfaced were proof of that. The panic on Lucius's face, an echo of his master's disbelief - _you said he was dead,_ _Narcissa, you said he was dead!_

No. No rewritten text would ever allow the Dark Lord to forget Harry Potter, whatever the rest of the world believed.

Draco threw the book aside and sighed, suffering again the irritating throb of his injury. This book - the bulky traffic of lies that was _Victorem -_ was a far cry from his own experiences. Its very existence shamed him; for the first time, he wished he could lay his hands on a copy of _Hogwarts: A History._ It would be like recovering a life that had long since been dead and buried. A time capsule of something easier. An entire world that had never happened, if the Dark Lord were to be believed.

He closed his eyes and was met with a flash of golden brown curls, her joyful laugh; her arms wrapped tight around the book. She was always carrying it. How many times must she have read it?

He had to find it. He _had_ to find it.

He leapt to his feet, ignoring the sharp stab in his side, and ran.

* * *

"I'm glad to see you," Hermione said, walking with her through their camp. It was a year or so later; after finding Harry, but before tripping into whatever she'd had with Bill. "Surprisingly glad, I think."

"You never did feel comfortable with me showing up once Harry and Luna got together," Ginny said with a shrug. "Guilt or whatever. Not like it bothered me."

"It did bother you," Hermione reminded her, though she instantly felt a nudge of shame at her selfishness. _You always have to be right, don't you?_ she scolded herself. _Can't just let her live with her delusions?_

"Fine, it bothered me," Ginny said curtly, and more than a little petulantly, as was her way. "But I got over it. We were apart for so long." She kicked fiercely at a rock, sending it rolling across a patch of loose, unsettled dirt. "She was better for him."

"Well," Hermione began, "I don't know - "

"No, I mean it," Ginny said, her eyes flashing as she looked up. "She really was better for him. I'd have just contributed to the chaos," she added, eyes instantly cast down again. "I'd have just wanted him to rush in without thinking. She made him smart."

"She was very clever," Hermione said hesitantly, not wanting to linger on the topic. "But you had so many other things to think about."

"True," Ginny sighed. "My parents, for one thing."

"Yourself," Hermione reminded her. "Going back to Hogwarts must have been - "

"Torture," Ginny hissed bluntly, nearly baring her teeth in her ire. "There wasn't a moment I wasn't watched, or else I would have - "

She broke off, and Hermione waited. She suspected she knew what was coming, and wasn't sure she was ready to hear it.

"I didn't know how near you all were," Ginny whispered. She looked up and Hermione joined her, seeing the towers of the castle emerging beyond the canopy of trees that surrounded their camp. "Just barely a breath away in the forest - and I had no idea - "

"It wasn't safe," Hermione said gently. "We'd have come for you - Harry wanted to - but with Death Eaters watching your family, if you disappeared - "

"I know," Ginny erupted, startling Hermione. "I _know_ that, I don't need - " she broke off, shutting her eyes. "I don't need the reminder."

"I'm sorry," Hermione offered, but Ginny shook her head.

"Doesn't matter," Ginny assured her, squaring her shoulders and feigning brightness. "That's not why I'm here, anyway."

"What is it you're here for, then?" Hermione asked, and they began to walk again, perfectly in step. "Are you here to convince me to trick Draco and then turn on him too, or was that just Bill's idea?"

"Oh, everything is so black and white for Bill," Ginny said flippantly, waving the thought away. "Not that you've done him any favors either." She glanced at Hermione. "The whole 'spirit of the wolf' thing?"

 _But the spirit of the wolf entered her, and the maid grew withdrawn, and enflamed with contempt; and in her loss, she turned her life to the hunt, her heart cold as ice in her chest._

"I thought it was poetic," Hermione insisted, and Ginny laughed.

"It was," she agreed. "Though a bit harsh."

"Poetry is not intended to flatter the subject," Hermione sniffed.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Well, mission accomplished," she said playfully, nudging her. "As he could hardly be flattered by being the 'sweet little maid, beloved by all,' or whatever else it was you said."

"I was making a point," Hermione said firmly. "Besides, it's hard to find much flattering about the whole situation."

Ginny nodded thoughtfully. "Fleur was the friend," she guessed, "and Macnair the wolf?"

"Yes," Hermione confirmed, nodding. "Unfortunately there were few other ways to metaphorize Fleur's death."

Ginny was quiet for a moment, her head tilted in thought.

Memory, more likely.

"It was so unexpected at the time," Ginny said quietly. "I think we thought there would be some victory still, some way we could still scrape out a win - "

Hermione nodded her solemn agreement. "I know. Death Eaters coming into our homes was just - " she shuddered. "Unfathomable."

They stood in silence, heads bent in quiet mourning. Hermione remembered the day it happened, Bill bursting into their camp - _I've killed Macnair,_ he said bluntly, his voice so hushed, so icy in its lack of feeling; _he killed her, so I killed Macnair_ \- and only moments after, the Patronus bearing a message from Arthur - _Bill's wanted for murder, he can't come back, we can't leave the house, don't reply, I have to keep your mother safe_ -

"Anyway," Ginny interrupted, suddenly tossing her hair and striding forward, "like I said, that's not what I'm here for."

Hermione sighed, envious of the younger witch's resilience. "What, then?"

"Well, you're not too far off. It _is_ about Draco," Ginny confirmed, flashing her a somewhat shameless look of non-apology. "I happen to serve as a _wonderfully_ poignant cautionary tale," she added wryly, and Hermione shook her head, gesturing her invitation.

"Go ahead, then," she grumbled. "Say your piece."

"I will, thanks," Ginny chirped back. "And as you might know, my tale starts with a diary."

"I'm unfortunately quite informed on the beginning," Hermione noted, lips pressed together firmly.

"Ah," Ginny said sagely, her pretty mouth pursed in a playfully admonishing frown. "But like all stories, it's the ending that counts."

* * *

Draco walked through the dark corridors of Malfoy Manor, headed to his rooms. He was sure the book was somewhere; he had probably thrown it in the study he'd used as a boy, a little replica of his father's that still made him sick to think about - the comparison, that is; the desperate tendency towards imitation - and never thought about it again. His rooms had been a shrine to him while he was away, so his mother would not have touched his things.

He muttered a _Lumos_ and pushed the door open, coughing as a stale, cool draft filled his nose; the air of a room long unopened. A floating series of dust particles swarmed around the lit point of his wand and he reached up with difficulty, tapping it to the overhead light fixture and filling the room with a bathing glow.

He walked over to his numerous shelves, searching for the volume; it would be newer than his other books, hardly touched, and he scanned the titles, finding the elaborate scripted _H_.

He grabbed it quickly, pulling it down, and settled himself on the floor, absently flipping the pages as he brought a hand down, nursing the ache in his side.

 _One oddity to note is that the Founders seemed to believe that boys were inherently less trustworthy than girls; while the boys' dormitories do not possess gender-specific limitations, the girls' dormitories were outfitted with a protective jinx, which would prevent the entry of the opposite sex -_

 _Well, that explained that,_ Draco thought, recalling Goyle's expulsion through the air from his attempt in fourth year. He flipped a few more pages.

 _The Founders were very careful to protect their school from intruders, and while some were more adamant about non-wizarding threats than others - Salazar Slytherin was notably fearful of the threat posed by any impending Muggle incursion - all four agreed to ensure that no witch or wizard could Apparate or Disapparate inside the castle, so to prevent -_

He continued his progress, continually flipping pages and catching brief glimpses of vaguely familiar text.

 _The Great Hall, one of the castle's finest architectural spaces, was further enchanted to resemble the night sky -_

He sighed, wondering what he had meant to gather from this expedition into lunacy, but continued aimlessly.

 _The castle, which has been home to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for over a thousand years, is perhaps the most unique magical building in Britain. Due in large part to its extremely advanced age and the sheer amount of magic present within it, the castle has developed some form of sentience or awareness, which is evidenced when the headmaster's office seals itself to all but the castle's chosen successor in the post, or when it wards itself against outside threats. There have also been isolated incidents reported in which it would appear that the castle has provided its students or instructors emergency portkeys when threatened; an exceedingly rare occurrence, of which very few examples exist._

 _Fucking say that again,_ Draco thought skeptically, asserting it must be 'exceedingly rare' indeed if he'd never heard of such a thing. Clearly, despite the threat of death and torture he suffered over his final two years of schooling, the castle had never felt itself a friend to him.

 _One such instance, which occurs in the sixteenth century, details the events of an altercation wherein a wizarding student named Francis Ambrose was said to grab onto a candelabra that appeared mid-argument with a particularly vicious troll. Ambrose was later heard from in a charming letter to his mother from the South of France, detailing his subsequent refusal to return to school after having grown quite content living in a small den of wood nymphs. This event, while not remotely the most bizarre to happen within the castle's walls, is particularly well-documented due to the lingering questions regarding the geographic significance of Ambrose's journey. Whether his having turned up conspicuously near Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, or whether a similar seventeenth century disappearance of then-Transfiguration Professor Cecily Wilmot to a thin islet in Norway near the rumored location of Durmstrang Institute, was coincidence or not remains to be confirmed._

Draco looked up, suddenly feeling his heart pound in his chest. Surely if there were examples of the castle interceding on account of something as trivial as an argument with a troll - whether 'particularly vicious' or not - _something_ might have appeared during the Battle of Hogwarts, and then maybe -

The door swung open. "Draco?"

He quickly replaced the book on the shelf. "Father," he said, trying not to appear startled and fighting a flinch at the abrupt twisting motion as he turned toward the door. "I hadn't meant to wake you."

"You didn't," Lucius said slowly, but provided no other explanation. "What are you doing here?"

"Couldn't sleep," Draco mumbled, which was certainly true. At Lucius's questioning stare, he sighed. "Like I've said, you can always change the wards if you've grown tired of my appearances."

"I see no need for such things, Draco," Lucius replied. "I am obviously not driven with the same need to block you out that you so unquestionably employ against me."

"I've told you," Draco reminded him, "it's not my fault the wards are set that way." _It's not my fault you're not Black blood._

 _It's not my fault you don't have anything left of Narcissa._

Lucius stiffened. "I'm aware," he said, then cleared his throat, abandoning his momentary inclination towards sincerity and adapting his usual authoritarianism. "Were you looking for something?" He squinted at the bookshelf, seemingly trying to guess which title had struck Draco's fancy. "Has the mudblood given you any hints?"

"She has," Draco replied.

Lucius waited, but Draco remained silent. Lucius narrowed his eyes, displeased.

"I would warn you, Draco," Lucius began, visibly struggling against his temper, "your stubbornness will be your undoing. I am a resource for you," he added, somewhat imploringly. "I have served the Dark Lord successfully for far longer than you have even been alive - "

"And _unsuccessfully_ , too," Draco added sulkily. "Whether he chooses to recall those things or not."

"He does not," Lucius snapped angrily, his grey eyes flashing, "and nor should you. Or would you wish him to marinate in your failures as well?"

"I told you," Draco retorted, "I'm already - "

"I don't care what you _told_ me," Lucius cut in. "What I _see_ , Draco, is you making a mess, aimless as usual - showing up in my house in the middle of the night - "

"Your house," Draco repeated, a little stung at the possessive.

Lucius scowled.

" _You_ are the one who turned your back on me," Lucius reminded him. " _You_ are the one who has done nothing but disappoint both me and the Dark Lord - in your ambivalence, in your lack of gratitude - "

 _Gratitude._

Draco wondered what he was supposed to be grateful for; his father sacrificing him to the whims of a madman? Strapping him with the task of murder when he was little more than a child, without a care to how it broke him? And when Draco nearly floundered - where was he then? Where were Lucius's _resources_ then? Where was he when Nott died, when Narcissa died?

Where was he during the Ministry raid? _Painted a fool by his own hubris, his many forces humiliated behind their masks -_

Draco shook his head, vigorously scrubbing himself of any thought of that day. _Not now._

He strode forward, gritting his teeth to prevent any sound escaping him that might give away his injury, and brushed past his father.

"I won't come back to your house," he assured Lucius, leaving his father to choke on the dust of the room and its contents.

* * *

"It's different," Hermione said, feeling her face go pale. "With Draco. It's nothing like what happened to you."

"Oh, fuck, of course not," Ginny said, laughing despite Hermione's tentative approach. "Still, there's some element of trust. Knowing what's real."

"The irony," Hermione sighed at that - of knowing what's _real_ \- and Ginny grinned wickedly before slowly letting her smile fade.

"The remainder of my life was determined by the trust I put in a diary when I was eleven years old," Ginny reminded her. "Everything. My fate, my parents' fate - "

"Don't call it your fate like it's over," Hermione insisted quickly, alarmed by the finality of the tense. "Don't act like it's _over_ , Ginny - "

"Oh, no, certainly not," she agreed, shrugging. "But, of course, if I had known that he would come back - that he would still want ownership of me - " she shuddered, and Hermione found she couldn't blame her. "If I'd known he would lay claim to the piece of my soul that he'd experienced - "

"You were a child," Hermione whispered. "It was a mistake."

"And I certainly suffered for it," Ginny determined grimly. "He was . . . fascinated."

Hermione reached out, sensing sadness in the other woman's voice and brushing the coppery strands from her eyes.

"Your soul would fascinate anyone," Hermione assured her, a twisted form of comfort. Ginny, smiling through her struggle, seemed to understand.

"So," Ginny said, taking Hermione's hand. "As I was saying." She smiled tenuously. "Trust."

"Trust," Hermione repeated. "Do I trust him?"

"Do you?" Ginny prompted.

Hermione paused.

"I think," she said slowly, "that I want to. Because we have so little," she explained. _Because he's all I have._

Ginny nodded slowly, looking thoughtfully at the ground, and Hermione waited, surprised to find how badly she needed the other witch's opinion. She found she wanted someone brave.

"Bill wasn't wrong," Ginny said hesitantly. "You should take what you need. But maybe you need more," she added. "Maybe it's a matter of taking what he can give you."

"What does he possibly have to give?" Hermione asked, shaking her head in uncertainty. "What can I possible expect from him?"

Ginny pulled her into an embrace. "Maybe more than you think," she whispered.

* * *

He didn't know what possessed him to come back to her room, but she was awake, and she was waiting.

"I shouldn't have left like that," he sighed, and she seemed to register his apology. She tilted her head, considering him, before sitting up, raising her hand to gesture to his side.

"Does it still hurt?" she asked, and he nodded.

"It's definitely not comfortable," he muttered, and she made a little face of agreement. _Of course not,_ she seemed to say, and he half expected her to roll her eyes.

He half wanted her to.

She made a beckoning gesture and he drifted toward her, too spent to argue. Alone, he would only think of Lucius. Of everything he'd lived through. At least here, he had her, the fucking enigma that she was. He needed a distraction, and then he could pursue his portkey theory in the morning.

He lay down beside her and she shifted, running her fingers lightly over the dark slash of the scar.

"There once was a mermaid who lived in an underwater kingdom," she murmured, her touch fluttering over his skin. "She lived with her widowed father, the sea king, and existed in a state of questioning; for she knew not who she was, nor who she could be, except for her life within the context of the sea."

"One day, she swam to shore, rising to the surface, and she came across a prince; from a distance, she was curious, and pursuing an unknowable force, she swam to his ship, wishing to witness his kind up close. In her progress she encountered a violent storm, and in her wish to protect the prince from harm - the prince she scarcely knew," she added, and Draco felt his brow furrow in question, "she saved his life, delivering him unconscious to shore."

"But his saving was, in some ways, her undoing," she added, "for the life she had delivered to the prince was then sapped from her own, and she drifted into melancholy; longing, for the first time, for more."

There was a tenderness to her tone, and he felt it again, the rapture of her stories; the entrancing murmur of her voice.

"There was a sea witch in the kingdom, and the mermaid turned to her, to beg for an end to her relentless disconsolation. The witch, having nothing to lose by either the mermaid's gladness or suffering, offered her a potion; one which would render her speechless, and cause her pain like that which none had ever experienced," she said, and he shuddered at the grimness of the tale, "and then, as if pain were not enough, the witch tasked her with an impossible choice - to obtain the prince, and own him, or else surrender herself to the waves. The mermaid, desperate for her soul's relief, agreed, scarcely conscious of the difficulties that awaited her outside the protection of the sea."

"The mermaid swam to shore and drank the potion, and the prince, not knowing who she was, fell quickly for her beauty, for the way she was so steeped in sun," Granger continued, and Draco went rigid at the phrase. "But being cursed with voicelessness, the mermaid suffered in silence; the longer she remained with the prince, the more steadily she grew vulnerable, battling her own judgment under the weight of the choice the sea witch had thrust upon her; knowing as she did that pain, the prize for her desperation, was inevitable."

"She agonized over her choice - the prince's impending loss, or her own - and wondered whether she should ever have saved him. And for however she wished to declare herself, in the staggering pain of her cursed existence, she remained voiceless to protest."

She stopped, and he felt his heart sink. _That's the story,_ he thought. _That's it. That's your story. Voiceless and frozen, cursed and pained -_

But then she spoke again, and he closed his eyes in relief.

"But more can be said without a word," she ventured. "For feebleness may wane, and a reluctant hero is a hero still," she told him, and he heard it as a promise.

 _A reluctant hero is a hero still._

He wrapped her in his arms and held her.

" _Thank you," he said, though gratitude did not come easily, and had never been taught. "You are like live armor to my heart; you keep the fear off me."_

* * *

 **a/n:** Inspiration taken from Hans Christian Andersen's _The Little Mermaid_ , and from drsallysparrow, who has used this fairytale allusion before; check out her take on voiceless Draco in her drabble series, _Sally Drabbles_ , as Chapter 13: _Smart Mouth_. This chapter is for I was BOTWP, for your thorough analysis of each chapter; so excited to have you reading! _(Psst . . . she was one of the original readers of Clean while it was a WIP, and I keep tabs on these things.)_

Also: if you're into music, find my profile on Spotify (olivieblake). The playlist _Nightmares and Nocturnes_ features the moody piano stuff I use to dream up this odd little fic. This chapter brought to you largely by _Killing Me to Love You_ by Vancouver Sleep Clinic.


	11. The Price of Beauty

**Chapter 11: The Price of Beauty**

 _For all that the night girl was troubled, in her wretched state, she was not unhappy. She knew nothing of the world except the tomb of night in which she dwelt, and being strong of mind and light of spirit, she took some pleasure in everything she did. But she desired, nevertheless, something different; something that she knew not how to name, certain only that she wished, somehow, for more._

 _Her ventures toward the light served partially to punish, for if ignorance is peaceful bliss, then knowledge is no prize; and the disquieted cry that curled inside her stomach soon pressed into her soul, until she could no longer be satisfied with the night. For indeed, once light had met her eyes, she could not close them and return to the dark; and for having felt the glow of the day boy, she could no longer deprive herself the sight. All the little life she had seemed to come from him, and him from her. If he were to move, she might move; so if he left, would she, too, leave? For if she were to be apart from him, she did not know how she could stagger through darkness again, having known the splendor of the day._

 _For indeed, where he gaped, she rose, and where she faltered, he gleamed; and when darkness fell around them, they staggered slowly forward, illuminated in the sharedness of their sight._

* * *

 _ **2002**_

* * *

"Ouch," Harry said loudly, hissing through his teeth as she applied the Dittany to his back. "Fuckers."

"Sit still," she told him, attempting to concentrate. The wound was deep and there wasn't enough Dittany to cover the extent of the damage they'd both suffered; she was having to alternately drip the potion and use her wand stitch up the wound, using a spell she wasn't totally convinced would work for human skin. It was a repairing spell Molly had taught her for dressing up old throw pillows, but she figured it couldn't have been worse than muggle stitches. Magic, at least, was sterile.

"What's back there?" Harry asked sullenly, glancing over his shoulder at her. "Glass?"

"A bit," Hermione confirmed, hoping she'd gotten out the biggest shards. She ran her finger over his skin, testing for roughness; her glance shifted to the phoenix tattoo on his back and she sighed.

"What's it doing?" Harry asked quietly. "Dead, is it?"

"Worse," Hermione remarked, grimacing as the wings of the rampant phoenix shimmered in the dim light of their makeshift camp. "I think it's preening."

"Optimism," Harry scoffed. "Intolerable."

"Sort of your thing, though," Hermione reminded him. "It knows better than to assume you're out just because you're down."

"It's a tattoo," Harry retorted miserably. "It doesn't _know_ anything." Despite this, he twisted uncomfortably to look at her. "Let me see yours."

She put down her wand and turned, nudging the tattered sleeve from her shoulder. "Dead, is it?" she asked faintly, echoing his phrasing. It was something they always asked each other, though she wasn't sure what she would do if either of them ever said yes.

"No," Harry said quietly, running his fingers over it.

"Preening?" she asked, half-jokingly.

"Not really," he said, frowning. "It looks a bit . . . disheveled."

"Ah, imminent death," Hermione concluded grumpily. "Excellent."

She shrugged the remains of what was once a garment back over her shoulder, trying not to let herself look as discouraged as she felt. She rubbed her eyes wearily, knowing she should begin work on her own cuts and bruises.

They'd been planning the raid on the Ministry for months; it had been their last chance, though nobody wanted to say so out loud. There was no setting of _two_ traps, no luring _twice_ ; Voldemort made mistakes, but he was far from stupid. If it had failed - if _they_ had failed -

She sighed. If only success and failure had more distinctive qualities to them.

"I can't work out if I should be pleased with how it went," Hermione began slowly, eyeing a nasty cut on her arm. "I mean, I'm _not_ , obviously - "

" - but weighing the scales," Harry agreed. "He had more losses than we did."

"Today, anyway," Hermione said quietly. "Overall - "

"Overall, he's taken far more." Harry removed his glasses, rubbing exhaustion from his eyes. " _Much_ more."

They thought of Ron, of course. They always did, and they bowed their heads in the midst of their melancholy and suffered in silence. It was times like these that Hermione would faintly recall days when she'd been younger, when things had gone wrong and she had still known what to say; when sentences could still hold comfort because their problems could still be defined, and still outnumbered by their better moments. Of course, of all the things they'd lost, the luxury of having words seemed the least of it.

She wondered sometimes why she even bothered to remember.

"I saw Luna catch one of the other portkeys," Hermione managed after a moment, knowing he would be wondering. "She's safe."

Harry grimaced, unimpressed.

"You're only _guessing_ that she's safe," he countered bitterly. "You have no idea. You don't know if anyone else could have found our safehouses, or intercepted the portkeys - "

"I am _choosing to believe_ that she's safe," Hermione corrected carefully. She nudged him, playfully trying to shake the worried crease from his brow. "She always lands on her feet, doesn't she?"

"True," Harry conceded with a sigh, a flicker of a smile illuminating his face. "I do tend to forget how many things she's survived."

"She made it through a bad year at Hogwarts," Hermione agreed, ticking the instances off on her fingers. "Followed by captivity with Ollivander. Then when she went to rescue her father - "

"The foxfire," Harry said with a laugh, shaking his head. "I always forget that."

" - and then she made herself bait for you and _still_ survived," Hermione reminded him. "So I think we can assume she could fight her way out of anything, including whatever might have been waiting for her after taking the portkey."

"Still," Harry sighed. "I'd feel better if I knew there was something I could do."

"Of course you do," Hermione assured him, scooting closer and resting her chin against his shoulder. "You love her."

"And I was there for all the other things, you know?" he said, wincing as he shifted to lean back against her, all sore muscles and injured parts. "I know she can fend for herself, but - "

"You'll have to just trust her this time," Hermione said sadly, wrapping her arms around his waist and wishing she could absorb his worry.

He nodded, but said nothing. For a moment they simply stared out into the night, wondering about their loved ones and how long it would be before they saw them again. They'd all been separated enough times to know it could be days, or months.

Or years.

"What about you?" Harry asked, tilting his head to look at her. "Are you worried about Bill?"

She shook her head. "No," she choked out, and the word on her tongue was so bitter she almost drew back from the taste of it. "He'll be fine on his own."

 _He doesn't need me._

There was a cool breeze that swirled around her and she shivered, though Harry didn't seem to notice. Hermione turned slowly, squinting at a hazy silvery figure behind them that approached, blonde hair glinting as it came to rest beside them.

"Oh," she heard the figure say. "That's not _really_ what you meant, though, was it?"

Hermione looked up sharply. "Luna?" she asked, blinking. "But you're not - you weren't - "

"No, I wasn't here for this," Luna replied with a cheerful shrug. "Thank you for your comforting words, though, Hermione. I _do_ always land on my feet."

Luna beamed at her, and Hermione gaped back; Harry, seemingly, was not part of this interaction, and he seemed frozen in time as Luna reached out for her.

"But," Hermione sputtered, her hand limp as Luna took it, "why are you - "

"You know I'm an advocate for truth, Hermione," Luna said, taking a seat beside her without dropping her grip on her fingers.

Hermione scowled. "No you aren't," she sniffed, retracting her hand. "You once tricked me into reviving you from your _own_ exploding foxfire!"

"Well, _inner_ truth, then," Luna amended happily. "I feel it's often best to indulge in a bit of self-exploration, don't you?"

"I - " Hermione began, then stopped, sighing in resignation. "What is it you want me to explore?" she asked skeptically.

"Why you lied, for one thing," Luna said, patting her shoulder comfortingly.

"About Bill?" Hermione scoffed. "That wasn't a lie. I knew he'd be fine without me."

"No," Luna said, teetering on patronizing in the unfazed timbre of her patience. "Why didn't you tell Harry about the last thing you saw of Bill?"

"I - " Hermione faltered. "I didn't - "

She broke off, seeing the memory swim in the forefront of her mind. She'd been crouching at the base of the shattered statue in the Atrium, ducked behind the black stone; _how ironic,_ she thought, fighting a mirthless laugh. For all that the concept had sought to destroy her, she may have been saved by the carved words _MAGIC IS MIGHT._

She closed her eyes, thinking back. Harry had been running, sprinting from the elevators - _Hermione, now! -_ and she'd reached out, grabbing his hand, half-pulled behind him as they leapt for the closing fireplace -

 _Before that_ , she told herself; before that, she'd been looking at Bill -

His hair was falling into his face and he looked exhausted, nearly swaying, his feet planted unstably amidst the rubble -

She thought to reach for him, to call for him, but _something_ -

Something in his eyes had stopped her; something had made her follow the arc of his gaze, to see his opponent, to see that she had been unmasked -

 _She had been unmasked -_

Her brown eyes were glassy and vacant and her wild red hair had come loose, cascading down her back and falling around her shoulders -

 _No, but it couldn't be_ \- across the room, Bill staggered in disbelief -

 _Hermione, now!_

She glanced up - _Harry!_ \- and when she looked back, Bill was gone, and so was -

She opened her eyes, gasping.

"I couldn't tell him," she croaked, struggling to breathe. _I couldn't tell him what I'd seen._

"Why not?" Luna pressed. "Why couldn't you?"

"How could I have told him?" Hermione echoed, turning furiously to face her. "If he'd known what happened - if he'd known, he would have blamed himself - "

"Are you _certain_ that's why you didn't tell him?" Luna asked, sounding as though she still didn't believe it. "No other reason?"

"Like what?" Hermione tried to ask, but the question issued itself as a challenge. _Tell me!_

"Like maybe you thought it was _your_ fault Ginny Weasley was under the Imperius curse," Luna whispered regretfully, her bright eyes wide with pain.

* * *

 _ **2005 (Present)**_

* * *

He woke to her muttering in her sleep and shaking.

"Granger," he said, reaching over to pull her closer. "Granger, wake up."

"No," she was saying, "no, no, I didn't - "

"Granger," he said again, "look at me - "

She turned suddenly, her eyelids snapping open; her panicked gaze fixed on his as her eyes widened in nightmarish confusion.

"Hey," he murmured, trying to coax some form of gentleness from his voice. "You're okay. It's just a dream."

"It's not," she said fearfully, "it's not a dream - "

"It is," he assured her, easing her onto her side and smoothing her wild hair from her face. "It's a dream."

Her breathing slowly normalized; he kept whispering to her. "You're here," he said. "You're safe."

"Am I?" she rasped quietly, resting her shaking fingers against his cheek. They were cold and hesitant and still entirely foreign.

He opened his mouth to respond - _of course, of course you're safe with me_ \- and swallowed his response, knowing better than to make promises he couldn't keep.

She seemed to understand this, that he couldn't offer her much of anything, which somehow made things worse; _I'm not what you think_ , he wanted to tell her, _I swear, I'm not what you think I am -_ but this, too, he wasn't sure was true, and so he said nothing, smoothing a curl behind her ear.

"Granger," he attempted, "I - "

But then there was a loud rapping sound from downstairs, and they both sat up with a jolt; he squeezed her hand reassuringly, reaching down to press against the insufferable ache at his side.

"Wait here," he said quietly, struggling to his feet and passing his wand over his wrinkled clothes. He made a point not to look if she was watching; he couldn't stand to see the glimmer reappear in her eye. _You don't know what she's made of._

He didn't need the reminder.

There were only a few people it could be, and as he padded uncomfortably down the stairs, the knocking grew more insistent, which did away with any potential doubt. He reached the door and cracked it open, shaking his head.

"You know, when you first mentioned the whole portkey-in-the-mailbox thing, I really wasn't convinced you had any concept of practicality," Theo announced lazily. "But now that my Floo movements are being tracked, I'm starting to think you've got a decent head on those pretty shoulders."

"Oh good," Draco sighed. " _You're_ here."

"Yes," Theo agreed, brushing past him. "Congratulations, I'm here."

"Please, come in," Draco muttered, shutting the door and promptly barreling into where Theo stood, not having budged.

"Fuck, I thought you'd gone further inside like a _normal_ person," Draco remarked, wincing through the subsequent pain that radiated from his side. He frowned, noting that Theo's green eyes were appraising him sharply. "What are you looking at?"

Theo made a face, crossing his arms over his chest. "What did you do?"

"I made the mistake of opening the front door, that's what," Draco snapped, still clutching the half-healed wound. "What the fuck is this?"

"Theo Nott, Capital Observationist," Theo provided, bowing slightly. "Now," he added, waving a hand ambiguously at Draco's face. "What did you do? You've got guilt smacked all over you."

"Speaking of smacked," Draco retorted, swatting at Theo's hand with a grimace. "I've an idea - "

"Me first," Theo grunted. "What happened? Did something happen? Did you - " he frowned. "Did you not listen to me?"

"I make a point of not listening to you every day," Draco said loftily, offering him a little shove to force him towards the study. "I find it does wonders for my health."

"Well then let me open with fuck you, obviously," Theo began, nodding as he walked.

"Obviously," Draco agreed, falling in step beside him. "And?"

"And as a secondary point, _what the fuck_?" Theo continued, pausing to glare at him. "Did I not tell you to be careful with Granger?"

"What makes you think I haven't been?" Draco countered, feigning outrage. "Capital Observationist _maybe_ , omniscient certainly _not_ \- "

"What did you do?" Theo insisted. "Did you fuck her?"

"Wh- _fuck_ , Theo!" Draco protested, backhanding him weakly in the gut.

"If you could see your face right now, you'd assume the same fucking thing," Theo informed him. "You're as transparent as a - "

"Do _not_ give me a metaphor," Draco interrupted, throwing himself in his desk chair and flinching. "None of your metaphors."

"Fine," Theo sniffed. "But I hope it keeps you up at night wondering what it might have been," he added, jabbing a finger into the wood to punctuate the point, "as it was going to be poignant as _all hell_ , Draco Malfoy."

"Believe me, _that_ will not be the thing that keeps me up," Draco said wearily, reaching up to rub his forehead. At the widening of Theo's eyes, he sighed in exasperation. "Not like _that -_ "

"Oh really?" Theo asked skeptically, sinking into the chair and crossing his arms. "Like _what_ , then?"

"I was up late last night," Draco murmured, and held up a hand as Theo's mouth opened. "No. Stop."

Theo mimed zipping his lips shut, shrugging, though the smirk that had replaced his inevitable retort certainly spoke volumes on its own.

"I went to my father's house last night," Draco explained, and Theo frowned.

"Your _father's_ house?" he echoed dubiously. "You've never called it that before."

"It's a new era, Theodore," Draco said with a grimace, pompously waving his hand. "One in which my father teeters on the edge of casting me to the fucking wolves."

"That bad?" Theo asked, leaning forward with genuine concern. "Have you thought more about what you'll do, then?" he pressed. "If and when you find Potter," he clarified, though no clarification had been necessary. Draco suppressed a loud scoff at the inanity of the question.

"Have I thought about it?" Draco poised facetiously, letting out a false, barking laugh. "No, Theo, I _haven't_ ," he declared, "and I sleep like a fucking _baby_ at night!"

Theo paused, scowling. "Your sarcasm is not my favorite of your talents," he warned after a moment, pursing his lips in displeasure.

"What impresses you, then?" Draco prompted irritably. "My stunning ability to emote?"

"Off the cuff, I'd say you're a fair hand at chess," Theo provided, "and you've got a lovely warble when you're in the shower - "

Draco rolled his eyes. "Does this mean you _don't_ want to know why I went there?" he interjected.

"Ah, no," Theo remarked, shrugging in concession. "Tell me."

"I was looking through _Hogwarts: A History_ and I found something," Draco continued, hoping Theo would know. "Have you ever heard of the castle providing a portkey to one of the other wizarding schools?"

Theo paused, looking thoughtful. "I think I remember it in the text," he agreed slowly. "Something about a troll?"

Draco nodded. "A 'vicious argument,' I believe it was."

"More vicious than a war?" Theo asked, frowning. "Where the fuck was _our_ portkey?"

"That's what I'm - " Draco threw a hand up emphatically, nodding his vehement agreement. "That's exactly what _I_ said. Or, well, _thought_ ," he corrected, shaking his head. "Anyway."

"You think there was one?" Theo prompted. "A portkey, I mean."

"I can't imagine what kind of failure as a sentient castle Hogwarts would be if it did not present one at _some_ point while it was being fucking blown to bits," Draco offered sourly. "And at least one person is unaccounted for."

"And you think it might be the one person you need," Theo said, half laughing at the thought. "You think the Divination centaur might have gotten one?"

"He couldn't have gone back to the forest," Draco pointed out. "Nobody saw him leave the castle, and he's not among those rounded up afterwards."

"So what, there's a chance he's in France or . . . Bulgaria?" Theo guessed.

" _Krum's_ Bulgarian," Draco corrected. "Durmstrang itself is unplottable, so it could be - " he trailed off, shrugging. "Anywhere, I guess."

"Oh, _good_ ," Theo said, throwing his hands up. "Excellent. Fucking _magnificent_."

"Welcome to the struggle," Draco said, reaching up to put his hands behind his head and flinching. "Ouch," he muttered, bringing his hands down. "Add in a flesh wound, and _then_ welcome to the struggle, I guess."

"No," Theo determined, making a face.

"Fair," Draco permitted. "But in any case," he continued, refocusing, "he's a centaur. He had to have gone somewhere - you know. Wooded."

"Right," Theo said slowly. "So we're looking for a wooded area _somewhere in Europe._ "

He paused, one brow lifted. _Good fucking idea, Draco._

"It can't be _that_ complicated," Draco argued. "And anyway, wasn't this your idea?" he demanded, sitting up. "Weren't you all ' _it's fucking foretold_ ,' and ' _it's a quest_ \- "

"Fine, fine," Theo grumbled, rubbing his eyes. "Get a map, then," he instructed, frowning at Draco. "And some - I don't know, books!"

"I'll tell you one thing," Draco muttered, watching as Theo abruptly stood to examine his shelves. "You're more Granger than Granger right now."

"That's who we need, you know," Theo called back, squinting at the various titles. "Granger is exactly the piece we're missing here."

"Mm," Draco replied incoherently, thinking of her pressed against his chest, her fingers smoothing over the curve of his shoulder.

"Not to worry," Theo grunted, letting half a dozen books fall to the desk with a resounding thud. "I can swot with the best of them," he declared, grinning as he cracked open a dusty page and coughed.

* * *

Hermione heard footsteps approaching behind her and felt her chest tighten.

"I know I should have told him about you," she said, her eyes still closed.

"No," Ginny sighed, taking a seat beside her. "I think you were right not to. He'd have gone mad," she added, smiling a little. "You're lucky you didn't go mad yourself."

Hermione cracked one eyelid. "Didn't I?" she prompted, purposefully scanning the other witch's presence.

"I'm not the person to talk to about sanity," Ginny said indifferently. "Try Luna," she added, grinning.

Hermione laughed in spite of herself. "Right."

They sat together quietly for a while, looking over the camp. In reality, at the height of their time there, Hermione had been far too busy to sit idle like this. More likely she would have been found inside one of the tents, settling disputes or handling crises, not realizing how precious that time would end up being, or that she'd later spend two years on the run, consumed with guilt and regret and a paralyzing lack of certainty as to the fate of her friends.

At least she had Harry then. Now what did she have?

"You're not alone, you know," Ginny reminded her.

"I am in every way that counts," Hermione sighed. "Aren't I?"

Ginny looked like she might argue, but thought better of it; instead she paused, tilting her head thoughtfully.

"Why do you think it was your fault?" she asked. "What happened to me, I mean. Why do you blame yourself?"

Hermione immediately felt a weight sink in her stomach, wondering how to put every shred of her many tattered regrets in the form of a sentence; she strained for how to express it with words, struggling not to surrender to incomprehensible screams of fury.

"I shouldn't have let you leave," Hermione finally gritted out, swallowing a battalion of threatening tears. "I should have made you stay in our camp, I shouldn't have listened to you - I should have known you were safer with _us_ \- "

"Voldemort was threatening my parents," Ginny reminded her, seemingly indifferent. "My family."

"Still," Hermione choked out, "still, we could have - "

"You could have what?" Ginny countered crossly. "You could have tied me to a tree? Could have petrified me?" She looked pointedly at Hermione. "Imperiused me, maybe?"

"Don't," Hermione said sharply. "Don't say that."

"You couldn't have made me stay," Ginny argued, her volume rising. "There was _no way_."

"We could have hidden your parents," Hermione said, shutting her eyes again. "We could have done _something,_ gotten them out - "

"And gone where?" Ginny reminded her. " _Nowhere_. Grimmauld was out, The Burrow was watched, Merlin knows Shell Cottage didn't keep Fleur safe - "

"They could have come with us!" Hermione said frantically, flailing. "They could have - "

"What, _run_? At their age?" Ginny shook her head. "Once Voldemort was looking for me, there was no safe place for them anymore."

"He was looking for Bill, too," Hermione ventured faintly. _And Harry._

"Not the way he was looking for me," Ginny sighed. "You know that."

It was a losing battle. "But - "

"He watched me while I was at Hogwarts and I would have eventually gotten too hard to hide," Ginny determined with a grimace. "Failing to surface for the month I was with you was one thing," she added, shaking her head. "Any longer than that - "

She trailed off, and Hermione bit her lip, waiting.

"I wasn't going to take a chance when my parents were threatened," Ginny said sadly, and Hermione nodded, spent of any remaining argument.

"He knew me," Ginny added hoarsely. "He _knew_ my magic, you know?"

"He'd used it," Hermione agreed, the scholar in her rearing its head to acknowledge the intellectual value of the point. As with everything else, she'd read about it. "He could learn to recognize the footprint, so to speak."

"He would have found me," Ginny said. "He could have found me if I didn't go back."

Hermione hesitated, an inadvisable question forming in her mind; she fought it, but eventually the words slipped out.

"He still got you though, didn't he?"

Ginny turned her head slowly, looking sorrowfully at Hermione. She looked mournful and frightened, and Hermione ached.

"You don't know," Ginny reminded her, her brown eyes fixing intently on Hermione's. "You don't know for sure, and _that's_ why you couldn't tell Harry."

Hermione bent her head, shattered. "You're right," she admitted. "I don't know, and I - "

Ginny stood, turning to leave.

"Wait," Hermione cried desperately, scrambling to her feet. " _Wait_ , but - "

"You're not alone, you know," Ginny reminded her, touching her cheek and smiling.

* * *

"Alright," Theo announced. "I know this will _seem_ like a superficial point, but I'm ready to rule out Scandinavia."

"On what fucking basis?" Draco asked, squinting at the text before him. _Some suspect Durmstrang Institute to be located in the northernmost region of Sweden, due to high levels of magical occurrences in the area that cannot reasonably be attributed to any natural features of the land._

"On the basis of fucking shirtlessness," Theo reminded him, gesturing to his own chest. "It's _cold_. You think he wore a fucking sweater?"

In spite of the absurdity of the question, Draco paused. "I guess it wouldn't be his preferred climate," he muttered.

"I'm going to look at France again," Theo declared, shoving Draco's book over to open one he'd already scoured. "Too bad we can't just ask someone who went to Beauxbatons," he added, muttering to himself.

"What happened to what's-her-face?" Draco asked, looking up and frowning. "The Triwizard champion?"

Theo raised his head.

"You did _not_ forget Fleur Delacour's name," he said slowly, flashing Draco a doubtful smirk as he shook his head. " _Nobody_ could forget her."

 _Fair,_ Draco acknowledged, recalling her inexplicable appeal.

"She was part Veela," Draco grumbled, shrugging. "That's cheating."

"Regardless, she's _dead_ ," Theo reminded him bluntly. "It was a whole fucking mess, remember?"

Draco squinted into nothing for a moment, trying to recall. "Did she marry a Weasley?"

"The oldest one," Theo confirmed, nodding. "Then Macnair killed her - "

 _Ah, right -_

" - and Weasley killed Macnair," Draco suddenly remembered. "Fuck, how did I forget that?"

"I have no idea," Theo reminded him. "Thank fucking Salazar that Bill Weasley killed Macnair," he added, mumbling under his breath. "Otherwise they wouldn't have believed a Weasley capable of killing." He looked pointedly at Draco, who heard the underlying message: _otherwise we'd never have gotten away with what we did._ "And Macnair was no handful of sunshine to begin with."

Draco looked up abruptly, something in his memory suddenly jabbing at his attention.

It was Granger's voice. _He stole into the cabin in the woods, and ate up the maid's dear love, sparing no word, nor a breath of contrition. Then the wolf sat in wait, his true prize yet to be devoured._

"Wait," Draco said breathlessly, "what happened, again? With Macnair?"

Theo tilted his head thoughtfully, straining to remember. "He was sent after the Weasley," Theo said after a moment. "I was there when he got the assignment. I think he killed her first, and then the Weasley came home - "

" _Fuck_ ," Draco shouted. "Fuck me, that's - _that's_ the wolf story - "

"What?" Theo asked, but Draco held up a hand, still processing.

"Wait, hold on - "

 _But the spirit of the wolf entered her, and the maid grew withdrawn, and enflamed with contempt; and in her loss, she turned her life to the hunt, her heart cold as ice in her chest -_

She had looked so sad when she said it; more than sad.

Broken.

 _This is a woman, and someone made her cold._

"Fuck," Draco swore again. "Fuck, that could mean - "

"Um," Theo interrupted, nudging him. "Draco."

"What?" Draco demanded. "I'm coming to a fucking _conclusion_ here - "

"Draco," Theo said sharply, nodding at the doorway, and at the crispness of his tone, Draco consented to yield his attention.

He looked up, catching Granger's silhouette and choking.

"Oh," he started, "I - fuck, I forgot - "

 _Forgot what?_ he demanded internally. _That you said you'd be right back? That she lives here too? That she's probably hungry, you stupid fucking piece of -_

"What's this?" she asked quietly, her eyes flicking over the books that were strewn around the office. Her gaze traveled first to the map he'd conjured where it was levitating in the center of the room, marked to triangulate the possible locations; then she looked slowly from him to Theo, and then back to him.

She wasn't looking him in the eye; her attention was elsewhere, focused on something, but she was waiting for an answer and he was floundering -

"I - " he began, and then withered. _What can you say?_ he asked himself furiously. _What answer can you possibly give?_

"What's up?" Theo offered Granger casually, and a flicker of panic swept over her face as she backed away, disappearing from sight and then, from the sound of it, retreating to her bedroom.

"Cool," Theo determined with a nod. "I'd say that went well."

"Shit," Draco sighed, raking a hand through his hair.

"Do you think it was my attire she found displeasing, or my accessories?" Theo drawled, gesturing to his bared wrist. Draco noted that his own Mark, too, was showing, his sleeve pushed carelessly over his forearm as he worked.

He frowned. "Was she - "

"Staring at our Dark Marks? Yes," Theo informed him curtly. "With certainty."

"Well, fuck," Draco exhaled. "I'm guessing this didn't look good, then."

"Are you _trying_ to look good?" Theo prompted, raising one eyebrow. "That seems generally fruitless."

"What does that fucking _mean_?" Draco demanded, growling in frustration.

"Well, it looks like what it _is_ ," Theo reminded him. "A Death Eater going about his business. Or have you forgotten what you are?"

For a moment, Draco was astounded.

"That's not fucking fair," he hissed. "You _know_ it's not - "

" _I_ know it's not," Theo agreed, in his detestable, obnoxiously over-informed way. "But the reality is that you work for the Dark Lord and her fucking life - and _yours_ ," he added vehemently, "are completely dependent on what the fuck _you do next._ "

Draco stared at him, registering the truth of the statement; Theo, in return, looked half apologetic, half effortlessly smug.

"Go home," Draco suggested weakly, and Theo shrugged.

"Like I said," he sighed. "I'd say that went well."

* * *

She didn't know what possessed her to go downstairs. Maybe she'd dozed off and then woken up by herself, and maybe she'd felt cold and vacant and let Ginny's murmur of _you're not alone, you know_ nudge her to leave the room. Maybe she'd felt restless. Maybe she was curious.

Maybe it was the familiar sound of books thudding on the table; she hadn't heard it in so long, and then her feet were moving of their own accord.

What a silly thing to miss; _books._ What a foolish strike of whimsy, considering the life she'd lived. She could slap herself for her own stupidity, only it still might not sting as much.

She waited for Harry to show up, to demand clarity; or Bill, even, to say something, anything -

 _When you are adding the sum of his parts, don't you dare discount the brand of hatred he let them burn into his arm -_

Maybe not Bill. She pushed the visual of Draco's Mark out of her thoughts, squeezing her eyes shut.

 _Shower,_ she thought, recalling that it might feel better to settle herself under water. She angled herself toward the bathroom and walked, trying to force Ginny's sad smile out of her mind.

She started the tap and slipped inside, letting her hair soak, planning to stay until she was wrinkled and unsubstantial, until maybe she withered away into the folds of her own skin.

She was _tired_. She felt exhaustion in her bones, weighing heavy on her soul, and for all that she had to carry she somehow managed to feel emptied. Emptied of meaning, devoid of hope. Gaping with misery.

Cut open and bleeding with mourning and suffering and _guilt,_ and the drops that clung to her lips stung with the bitterness of _not knowing_ , the sour flavor of _wondering,_ precisely as Ginny had said.

 _You don't know. You don't know for sure._

It had been hard enough to put Ron behind her, to settle him gently in her past; and now, with everyone who remained an unanswered question - and the man downstairs who she ached to trust but couldn't -

 _Don't you dare discount the brand of hatred he let them burn into his arm -_

She realized she was sobbing as the water shut off; a towel gently draped itself over her shoulders and then arms wrapped around her, and she leaned against his chest, thinking he could crush her in his grasp and hoping he would do it.

 _You're here. You're safe._

He said nothing; just held her. Her tears got worse, at first; they shook her lungs and she convulsed in his arms, doubling over and fighting for breath, each one cruel and sharp and taunting.

But he didn't let go, and slowly she calmed, wheezing until she could swallow, pressing her hands to her swollen eyelids and inhaling with him, steadied by the rhythm of his heartbeat thudding against her spine.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he murmured in her ear. "I really don't."

She said nothing.

"I can't tell you what I'm working on," he said, then paused. " _Yet_. Not yet." He took a breath, and so did she. "But I can tell you that I won't hurt you," he whispered solemnly, and she heard a vigor in his voice that she hadn't heard before; like thunder. Like lightning.

A strike of certainty, and a promise.

"Can you accept that?" he asked. _Can you accept me?_

She turned slowly to meet his eye.

* * *

He swallowed, breathing hard.

"Once," she said, and he closed his eyes with relief, "there was a young girl, the youngest of seven children, who possessed a rare and magnificent beauty."

 _Seven children,_ he thought vaguely. _Fuck, that sounds like -_

He cut himself off. _Just listen._

"She, the most lovely, and the purest of heart, was beloved by her father, and when he asked his children if there was anything in the world that they desired of him, he always found her requests the hardest to refuse."

"But Beauty's father was no wealthy man," she said, "and in lieu of lavish gifts of pearls and jewels, all he could find to bring his daughter was a single rose; an object that seemed, to him, full of splendor in its simplicity, in the delicacy of its perfect cover. In his wish to gift his daughter - who was joyous indeed at her prize," she added, "he failed to see that the rose he had so carelessly plucked belonged, in fact, to a terrible beast, whose selfishness had turned him wretched, and who wished ownership of the one who now possessed his rose."

 _Seven children,_ he repeated to himself, _and the father not a wealthy man -_

 _If ever a family had been cursed,_ he sighed, running his thumb along her cheek, _surely it was the Weasleys._

"The beast searched to find the possessor of his rose, scouring the land with his magic mirror; and when he found her, as punishment for her possession - and out of fascination with the beauty of her, for she was fair of face and pure of soul - he wished to lay claim to her, and sought to strike a bargain with her father. And while Beauty's father was no unclever man, and though he saw the beast for what it was, he was without leverage, and with many a debt to be paid; and so when the beast came for Beauty, neither her father nor any of her brothers could prevent her captivity."

Granger swallowed, fighting tears again; she leaned into his touch, closing her eyes.

"But while Beauty had held the rose, she had dreamt for weeks of a handsome prince," she continued quietly. "A man whose body and soul had once been as lovely as her own, or so she thought. She filled her confinement with her thoughts of the handsome prince until he had invaded her mind, and she slowly succumbed to the beast's will, thinking him the prince's captor, searching and scouring, but never finding the handsome figure of her dreams."

"What Beauty did not know was that the beast and the prince were the same," she rasped, "for beauty can be a tricky thing, and demands a heavy price for its coaxing - "

She broke off abruptly and he pulled her in closer, resting his cheek against the dampness of her hair. He thought of the wolf story that he only now understood, and of the many others she had told him, and realized that each one must have held immeasurable pain. For a moment, he realized how little he knew - of her, and of her world - and marveled that she bore it for him, night after night, for a purpose that neither of them knew or understood. For as much it kept her alive it must have killed her - _be_ killing her - but she couldn't stop, and neither could he.

Her breathing timed itself to his and he set his chin on top of her head, thinking of the phoenix tattoo on her back; he hadn't meant to look but the thing was in _motion_ , its wings beating relentlessly, radiant and glinting beneath the falling drops.

 _I will rise, I will rise -_

He closed his eyes.

 _Yes,_ she'd said, _we always rise._

* * *

She glanced up, catching a tuft of black hair.

"You know who we should talk about?" Harry ventured. "Zacharias Smith."

She closed her eyes. _Not now._

"I agree," Harry said with a shudder. "That bloke's a wart."

She leaned into Draco and sighed.

 _For indeed, where he gaped, she rose, and where she faltered, he gleamed; and when darkness fell around them, they staggered slowly forward, illuminated in the sharedness of their sight._

* * *

 **a/n:** Inspired by _La Belle et la Bête_ by Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve, known more commonly around these parts as _Beauty and the Beast_.

How many chapters? Uncertain. At least 30.

Dedicated to tenderheartinablender; I am grateful for (and blushing over) your vote of confidence.


	12. The Flames of Indifference

**Chapter 12: The Flames of Indifference**

 _There had been a time that the day boy had known the thrill of the hunt; a time when he had bounded after creatures as the monster had bade, secure in his reason for breathing. But when lightness faded from his soul, so too did the pleasure of the hunt, and without it - without the crutch he'd thought was courage, but had found amounted to but a trick of the light - he could scarcely stand, ridden down by doubt and torment._

 _For a time, he considered himself disheartened, brought low by his failures, and desiring only to return from whence he came, to a version of himself which could withstand the future tests of night; that he might be as brave as the prey he thought he had mastered, which had run easily into the arduous dark. For he was not prey nor much a predator, and hung suspended, uncertain of his place._

 _But for all that the night girl was bright, and for all that she shone in her strength, she saw the world with the eyes of an artist, and without the cold drive of the hunter; and when her need was greater, it was the day boy, whose trials seemed to pale against the light of her eyes, who sought to take aim._

* * *

 _ **2002**_

* * *

He had been running through the Ministry when he found Potter, and the moment he saw him he stopped dead in his tracks.

They were alone; that was the first problem.

It was funny, really, how things had turned out. It was supposed to be so easy _._ _Put the girl on trial,_ the Dark Lord had said, scarcely sparing a moment to consider it. _He came for her once -_

 _Twice,_ Theo had muttered to Draco.

 _\- he'll come again,_ the Dark Lord finished smoothly.

 _And if he does not?_ nobody had asked; a stupid question. _Dementor's kiss,_ the Dark Lord had not needed to reply. They all understood it; they'd all been born into it, a life of predictable outcomes. They understood the unsaid as much as they understood the value of their every pulse.

What they had not understood, and what Draco knew when he first glimpsed Potter's grim expression, was that they'd gotten far too comfortable, lulled into thinking that the Chosen One would not come for them, that he would not have hardened too; that after dying and rising, he would still only amount to the Boy Who Lived.

They'd been fools to think that because he was good, he would not still be angry.

Potter's voice was harder than Draco remembered, and edged with cold authority. This would be no schoolboy sparring, no name calling behind teenaged insecurity. He was a man stripped of everything and in every way that mattered, it had been Draco who'd done it. It was Draco who'd been a piece of it.

So he was surprised to see Potter meet his eye.

"Malfoy," Potter said. His voice had a bitter, stony cut to it now, and Draco's name on his tongue was razor sharp. "I know it's you. Take the mask off."

"Don't make me do this," Draco muttered back gruffly, his wand pointed at Potter's chest with far more conviction than he felt.

"You're not going to," Potter replied carelessly, letting his own wand arm fall. "Don't forget that I saw you in the astronomy tower. I won't be the first to tell you that you don't have it in you to kill me," he added, with a lilt of sorts. There was a subtle mockery to his words, to the precise angle of his chin, and it struck Draco as strangely cruel; a taunt Draco himself might have used.

A long time ago.

"And what about me?" Draco countered skeptically, not lowering his wand. "Do you really fucking expect me to think you won't kill _me_ given the chance?"

After he said it, he thought he saw something glitter in Potter's eyes; he thought he saw him turn the thought over in his mind and imagined that Potter was trying on the concept of killing him, sampling it first in his mind to see if the outcome would suit. His wand wasn't raised but there was a nearly imperceptible change in his stance, a flash of hunger, like a piece of him was struggling to get out.

Probably the piece of him that blamed Draco; and surely, at least one piece of him did. But then the flash Draco had seen abruptly disappeared, replaced by a sour indifference.

"After the times I've saved your life?" Potter scoffed, crossing his arms impatiently over his chest. "I don't make a habit of wasting my time. Besides," he added, a weary resignation draping itself around his shoulders. "She wouldn't want me to."

At the word _she_ , it was all Draco could do not to let his wand simply clatter to the floor.

"She wouldn't?" Draco echoed breathlessly, letting his arm droop at his side.

Potter seemed momentarily surprised at his reaction, but his tone remained unfazed. "Take the mask off," he repeated. "Stop hiding."

Draco scowled. "I'm not hiding," he retorted, feeling a wave of irritation at the suggestion.

"Oh really?" Potter repeated, and for the first time, he sounded like himself. "You just like the way it looks then, do you?"

"What do you want?" Draco snarled, ripped somehow to shreds in the shallow distance between fear and guilt and madness. The sounds of pain and terror were muted where they stood, but he knew that below them the atrium had been left a broken valley of rubble, and the thought of it struck at his conscience like shrapnel. "What does it matter whether I wear it or not?"

"Because I have to see it!" Potter shouted back, his face flushed with anger. "I have to see your fucking face, Malfoy," he spat. "I have to see you look me in the eye and tell me this was worth it."

Draco gaped at him; the idea that such a thing could be said or done or believed was inconceivable madness.

"Worth it?" Draco repeated. "You want me to tell you that _this_ " - he gestured around them, to the deadened sounds of chaos that threatened to engulf them - "is what you think I fucking _wanted_?"

"You took the Mark," Potter reminded him. "Before any of them. _You_ chose it."

 _Don't think I don't know that,_ Draco thought, swallowing hard.

"I'm pretty fucking clear what side I'm on," Draco muttered back.

"Are you?" Potter countered, raising one brow. "Then what are you doing?" he added, gesturing to Draco's wand where it pointed limply at the floor.

"What are _you_ doing?" Draco retorted obnoxiously.

"I'm fucking looking for him, that's what I'm doing," Potter said forcefully. "The _same fucking thing_ I've been doing since I was eleven _fucking_ years old - "

He cut himself off, and Draco could see his hands were shaking as they curled themselves into fists. He tried to imagine Potter's rage, to picture his losses, and found he couldn't do it. He had been devastated by far less.

"Take the mask off," Potter said again.

Draco fidgeted.

"Is Granger here?" he asked.

Potter waited a moment before he answered.

"No," he said gruffly, and his brow furrowed as Draco reached up, slowly removing the mask and casting it to the floor.

"There," Draco grunted. "Happy?"

"Tell me what fucking side you're on," Potter said instantly. He took a step closer. "Look me in the eye and tell me what side you're on."

This - the idea that he could _even_ ask this question, to demand that Draco legitimize himself with some stupid, meaningless confirmation that could be a death wish either way - instantly burned a mad fury in Draco's chest.

"It's really that simple for you, isn't it?" Draco snapped, loathing Potter in a new and different way. "Thinking it comes down to _sides_ \- "

"How could it not be simple?" Potter countered, his green eyes glinting behind his glasses. "How can you look at what he did to the world and think it's anything _but_ simple?"

"Where in my world do you see the fucking exit sign?" Draco retorted, feeling his chest tighten uncomfortably. "Or are you telling me the mask and the Mark aren't indication enough for you?"

At that, Potter looked weary; Draco opened his mouth - _where is she?_ \- and then closed it, determining anything he said would be unwise.

"What side are you on?" Potter asked again.

He was a fucking nightmare, as impossibly dense and obstinate as always; had he somehow managed to forget what was going on in the rest of the building? There was a distant explosion from somewhere behind them, an _expulso_ from someone that was headed their way, and Draco sighed in bitter resignation.

Maybe Potter needed morality to stand on; maybe after everything he'd sacrificed and everything he'd lost, he needed it to help him sleep at night. Maybe he needed to take solace in knowing what he fought for. Maybe he took comfort in _sides._

But Draco was more pragmatic than that.

"Wherever Granger is, take her and get out," Draco muttered, pointedly avoiding the question. "He's not here anymore. He left the moment you cast the Patronus."

Potter frowned. "How did he - "

"You know, you might actually manage to get out of here if you just stop throwing that fucking spell around everywhere you go," Draco growled, cutting him off.

 _Take the hint_ , he pleaded silently.

Potter nodded slowly, seeming to grasp the point, and he turned, heading back toward the elevators. He stopped once, turning over his shoulder, and Draco fought a groan of impatience.

"Get _out_ ," Draco repeated, and Potter narrowed his eyes curiously, considering him from afar.

"If you leave now, I won't tell her I saw you," he said simply.

Draco held his breath. _Good,_ he thought to say. _Fucking keep this shit to yourself, Potter._

But then he thought of her, of the last time he'd seen her, when she had so absurdly thought _she_ had something to offer _him_ ; he felt his breath snag on the memory, creeping up to rip the word from his throat.

"Please," he croaked, and Potter nodded, taking off at a run.

* * *

 _ **2005 (Present)**_

* * *

Draco's eyes snapped open, the ghost of his last request to Potter still floating in his mind.

 _Please._

Obviously Potter had kept his word, though it was just as obvious that he'd initially lied to Draco. Granger had clearly been there the whole time by her own admission - _a trap, a lure of sorts, to draw him out of hiding_ \- and Potter, for whatever reason, had chosen not to inform Draco of that.

 _Not that that made a difference, really,_ Draco thought wearily. He wouldn't have done anything differently if she had been.

Would he?

He brought a hand to his temple. _So much for sleep._

He would have to lay low, he reminded himself, considering the danger his own mind was repeatedly putting him in. He'd forgotten the encounter with Potter entirely until it had been served to him by his subconscious, though he could not imagine now how the former vacancy had been possible. Surely even the effort of pushing the thought aside would not have decimated the memory so fully, not with the haunted way Potter had looked at him, or the crippling sentiment he'd expressed. _What side are you on?_

He sighed, closing his eyes.

Perhaps it had been Draco who'd dragged it out of his own mind, some kind of echo of Theo's words from the day before. _It looks like what it is,_ Theo had said. _A Death Eater going about his business._

 _Or have you forgotten what you are?_

Draco wondered if he'd ever even known.

 _Have you thought about what you'll do?_

He tried to imagine seeing Potter again; wondered if he'd be like Granger, bereft of anything he'd once been. Wondered if he'd be something worse. Some shell of himself. He'd looked on the edge of hate the last time Draco had seen him; who was to say he hadn't gotten worse?

Perhaps this time he might even find it in him to kill Draco, for once. He'd certainly looked like he might do it the last time, even if it had only been for a moment.

 _Say that were the case, then,_ Draco thought sullenly. Say Potter was not the rightful heir, or the good outlaw, or the _stuff of future legends,_ or whatever other lofty title Granger had reserved for him - what _then_? What if this was no longer a world that benefitted from the existence of Harry Potter?

In a way, it was a sickening thought. The likeliness of its truth made it infinitely worse.

Not to mention that as far as Draco was concerned, turning over Potter would likely ensure his safety for the rest of _time_. It would put him beyond suspicion, beyond reproach. It would afford him the right to disappear, and maybe in this world, that was more valuable than anything.

 _Cursed from birth, and we taught ourselves to hide._

He felt Granger stir beside him and he turned, looking at her. The expression on her face was surprisingly peaceful, and for a moment he thought about waking her, pulling her to him and kissing her again, just to feel her breath in his lungs.

A terrible idea, of course. _Her fucking life - and yours - are completely dependent on what the fuck you do next._

He wondered if he could have ever predicted how little his decision about what to do with Potter would actually have to do with _Potter._

But either way, he'd have to find him. He slid out from under the duvet and padded softly to the door, sparing a moment to glance at her before slipping out of the room.

* * *

Hermione looked around the room, recognizing the empty cabin they'd lived in temporarily and instantly fighting a wave of revulsion. It was hardly as comforting as their camp had been, and she did not appreciate the reminder.

"I hate this place," she muttered, and beside her, Harry chuckled.

"Is that a new thing, or is it just because of what happened here?" he asked her, looking foolishly unfazed, considering how repugnant she found the place.

"Hard to separate," she said with a shrug, trying not to flinch at the dinginess of the cabin as Harry stood, relocating himself in the room. "How long were we here? A week?"

"Maybe less," Harry said glumly, squinting out the window. "Hey," he added, gesturing to her. "Come here, would you?"

She dutifully rose, coming to his side. "What is it?" she asked, glancing around outside. "See something?"

"I thought I did," Harry admitted, craning his neck to see through a thick cluster of trees. "My imagination, I'm guessing."

"Mm," she said, shrugging. "Well, in any case, a week was certainly long enough," she added, opting to sit on the floor. "I really didn't like this place."

"I know you preferred the tent," Harry agreed. "But I did think it was best to - "

"Vary our patterns, I know," Hermione sighed, nodding her unwilling agreement. "I know. And it would have worked, too," she added. "If we hadn't . . . "

She trailed off. _If we hadn't made a crucial error in judgment._

He passed her a sympathetic glance. "I hated it as much as you did," he reminded her quietly. "If not more."

"More, probably," Hermione gruffly conceded. "I knew perfectly well how much you missed her."

"I'd have killed for news," Harry growled in agreement, flopping down beside her. "Fuck him and all his taboos."

She shook her head, sighing in agreement.

"The taboo on the Patronus charm _was_ pretty genius," she managed faintly. "Certainly made his job easier."

"Made the _snatchers'_ jobs easier," Harry corrected, scowling. "It made _him_ even more aloof than he was before, safe in his ivory tower."

"Funny how that backfired," Hermione remarked, letting a brief, mirthless laugh escape against her will. "The trap at the Ministry was supposed to wipe out his defenses, and yet when it came down to it - "

"In the end, we underestimated him," Harry interrupted, jagged lines of pain etched into his face. "Though I very much miss the days when _he_ was the one doing the underestimating," he added under his breath. "Those were much more convenient for me."

"We didn't underestimate _him_ ," Hermione corrected. "We underestimated how willing people would be to mold themselves to his world."

"Feels like the same thing," Harry muttered, knocking his head back against the wood and shutting his eyes. "Doesn't it?"

She grimaced, wishing to vent her frustration and knowing nothing would ever satisfy her need to set the world ablaze for her pain.

"It's hard not to feel stupid looking back on this," she confessed. "After everything, I still let my idealism get the better of me." _I thought I could trust that other people wanted the same world I did,_ she thought, _and I was so, so painfully wrong._

"You wanted to believe the best of people," Harry provided, shrugging. "And Ron wasn't here to remind you how much he hated Zacharias Smith."

She turned to face him.

"I really, really, _really_ do not want to discuss Zacharias Smith," Hermione grumbled. "Is this really necessary?"

"Of _course_ it's necessary," Harry said adamantly, frowning at her. "He's the reason you're here."

"Yes, and is that really necessary to discuss?" Hermione countered furiously. "It's just a reminder that I was completely _stupid_ , which I really don't need - "

"You weren't the only one," Harry reminded her gently. "When he showed up I thought the same thing you did. We're wired to give second chances," he added fondly, nudging her. "It's what makes us the good guys."

"We are glorious idiots," she muttered, resting her head on his shoulder. "All the signs were there," she added. "The fact that he _bailed_ on us at Hogwarts, not to mention how much we all hated him to begin with - "

"Which was easy to gloss over at the time," Harry reminded her firmly. "He had the Protean charm, he _found_ us - "

"Because _we_ are predictable!" Hermione insisted. "Us and our second chances," she added under her breath. "We are fucking fools."

She bent her head, eyeing the floor; it was hard to be here, to remember things as they had been. To recall the widening of his eyes as she reached for him, only to find a vacancy in the air where his fingers should have been.

"I don't want to talk about Zacharias Smith," she said, closing her eyes.

There was a shift beside her; a cool wave of calm.

"You'll have to," Luna whispered, leaning in comfortingly. "Don't you think?"

Hermione's eyes snapped open. "You again," she sighed, though she'd sensed as much. "Why is it always you?"

"I could get Ron instead," Luna suggested brightly. "But I think you prefer your hard truths in a gentler voice."

 _I don't,_ Hermione wanted to shout at her, but it was never really worth arguing with Luna. It was only unnecessarily dizzying.

"What hard truth am I missing this time?" Hermione demanded, scowling as she unwillingly gave in.

"Well, for one thing," Luna reminded her, tapping her nose and smiling as Hermione made a face. "Zacharias Smith might know where Harry is," she murmured, looking smugly gratified by Hermione's widened eyes.

* * *

Draco growled his frustration at the map in front of him, trying to figure out how best to arrange what could end up being _several_ apparitions to France in an attempt to find Firenze; an attempt which was in itself _so_ indirect a route to Potter as to render itself nearly useless.

Part of him wanted to set the whole thing on fire, except then he'd have _zero_ fucking leads, instead of the pathetic half of one he did have. If he'd been hoping for encouragement, this wasn't going to be it.

He rubbed at the back of his neck, not noticing right away that Granger had appeared in the doorway; it wasn't until she emitted the world's tiniest cough that he glanced up, startled.

"Fuck, Granger," he said, frowning. "I'm going to have to put a bell on you if you're going to start wandering around. Not that you shouldn't," he added, wondering if he was being entirely insane, or just mildly.

She looked quizzically at him for a moment, but then stepped inside his study, looking at the mountain of books he still hadn't put away with such a sudden, voracious hunger that he had to fight the urge to fling them at her and yell _here, take them!_

Fortunately, he did not, and her expression softened from hunger to childlike curiosity as she moved to look at his map, glancing over it.

"You're looking for Beauxbatons," she noted quietly, scanning the map. He was momentarily stunned, but fought vigorously to conceal his surprise, leaning one shoulder against the wall and watching from afar.

"Yes," he said after a moment, deciding it was pointless to deny it.

She tilted her head, gazing at him from where she stood. "Why?"

He stared at her. _I can't tell you what I'm working on._

She looked disappointed, but nodded.

"Do you know where it is?" he asked her, and for a moment, a thoughtful expression of hers that he remembered from a thousand years before flickered briefly over her face.

"No," she determined after a moment, but he watched her lift her hand, letting it float over the area he'd triangulated with Theo. She let her fingers pause over a corner that he'd marked off - a reference from _Hogwarts: A History_ \- and momentarily chewed her lip, like she was recognizing something.

Then, as though she had been exhausted by the effort, she slowly turned to face him. He helplessly reached out a hand and she stepped forward to take it, twining her fingers with his and letting him pull her towards him.

She leaned her cheek against his chest; he buried his lips in her hair, speaking into the top of her head.

"I promise," he began, but then stopped, feeling repulsed with himself. _I can't tell you what I'm working on, but I can promise that I won't hurt you._

Why would that ever be promise enough for anyone?

She looked up, meeting his eye.

 _What side are you on?_ he heard Potter ask.

 _Yours,_ he wanted desperately to tell her.

She brought her chin up, brushing her lips against his jaw; he shivered, pulling her in tighter.

"Once there was a couple who had a daughter," she began, her voice a soft murmur in his ear. "But when the mother died, the father took a new wife, and the young girl's stepmother did not take kindly to her presence. She wished, as wicked stepmothers do, for the girl to be gone with her life, and for the young girl's place in her father's heart to be left available to her stepmother."

"But the girl was no fool, and preferred cleverness to virtue; 'only three things matter,' she would say, her eyes sparkling with mischief; 'firstly, what I want; secondly, what I have; and third - and most important - how I can use the second to gain the first.'"

 _I see your tendency towards opportunism suits you,_ Draco heard Theo say.

 _Opportunism,_ Smith had echoed. _Why does it sound like such a dirty word on your tongue?_

 _Because it means you never chose a side,_ Draco thought silently, and then, much to his dismay, a second thought; _so_ _what does that make me?_

"The clever girl's stepmother sent her away under the guise of duty," she continued, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning back to look at him. "She told the girl to find a terrible monster who lived in the woods, who the stepmother knew could not tolerate a human, to ask it for a favor. The clever girl, who was brave, and rich in cunning, agreed, but recognizing danger in the air, was careful to watch the monster's behavior, and when it became clear to her that the monster would soon seek to destroy her, she painted herself a scheme, well-versed as she was in deceit."

Draco could tell by the way she was speaking, by the distaste on her tongue, that unlike the other stories, this one was not about a friend. There was a foundation of loathing that even he could sense, and it surprised him how much he instantly shared her revulsion.

"The monster had a servant in whom it confided, and it admitted to his servant that he wished to destroy the clever young girl, for the monster only had use for its favorites. But the girl, clever as she was, and caring not for others, engaged in a bit of trickery; when she was meant to be thrown into the flames for the monster's consumption, she lured the monster's servant in her place, leaving another to suffer in her stead."

She swallowed, a desperate suppression of rage, as her fingers tightened around Draco's shoulders.

"And so the clever girl was spared, and not for virtue," Granger spat, and it was venom he heard on her tongue this time, not sadness or trauma. "Not for morality, or for righteousness, but for selfishness." She seemed not to notice that she was twisting her fingers into his sweater, gripping him so tightly he wondered if he would bruise.

"She was no hero," she added, choking on a gasp, and he held her closer, cradling her head against his chest.

"Who did this to you?" he asked her, and he heard something in his own voice; a metallic demand that surprised him, and seemed to do the same for her.

She looked up at him. _Whose side are you on?_

He couldn't breathe. _Yours._

 _But for all that the night girl was bright, and for all that she shone in her strength, she saw the world with the eyes of an artist, and without the cold drive of the hunter; and when her need was greater, it was the day boy, whose trials seemed to pale against the light of her eyes, who sought to take aim._

* * *

 **a/n:** Inspiration taken from the Russian fairytale _Baba Yaga_. An extra thank you to drsallysparrow for bouncy-walling; heart eyes, etc.

Dedicated to KatherinePond! Thank you for your always kind and thorough reviews.


	13. The Snake in the Grass

**Chapter 13: The Snake in the Grass**

 _The night girl knew few things, but that which she knew, she knew with her whole mind, and believed with her whole soul; that the light which she conjured from nothing was beautiful, and that the dark was no place to live. And so, when doubt made to consume her, and when she struggled even to stand, she clung wholeheartedly to her truths, to the arduous nature of knowing._

 _Where there were vacancies, she filled them with truths. It was true, firstly, that she could carve paths in the dark, and she could use those paths with which to crawl, hands and knees, towards the light; and it was equally true - as true as the pulse of her heart - that the day boy, for all that he shone, was made to fit within her little chasms, to fill her up with light._

* * *

 _ **2004**_

* * *

"I'm surprised you still have that," Hermione commented, gesturing to the galleon in Zacharias's hand. "If I were to guess that anyone would hold on to old D.A. paraphernalia, I would not have thought it'd be you."

"I'm not the type to throw things out," Zacharias replied, slinking down in his seat and shrugging. "Plus I had a feeling it might help me find you, you know." He made a face. "Since everything else has clearly gone to shit."

"Certainly has," Harry muttered, shaking his head, "But still. Didn't think that out of everyone, _you'd_ be the one to show up here."

"You expecting people?" Zacharias asked curiously, glancing between them. "Is that why you started using the galleons again?"

Hermione bit her lip, glancing at Harry. He shrugged.

"Not _expecting_ people, exactly," Harry replied warily. "Just . . . "

He trailed off, growing fidgety under Zacharias's questioning. It had been clear enough - to Hermione, at least - that Harry was waiting to hear from Luna, and Zacharias Smith was an unsavory alternative by any measure.

"Well, without the use of the Patronus charm, there's really no other way to communicate, but we wanted people to know there was a safe place with us if they needed it," Hermione supplied softly, filling in the blanks. "This was the next best thing, though I had always suspected most people wouldn't still have theirs." She glanced up curiously. "How did you know how to find us?"

"Well," Zacharias began, a bit too smugly for Hermione's taste, "you used to put the date and times for D.A. meetings where the serial numbers were," he explained, pulling the coin out of his pocket and gesturing. "But now it's geographic coordinates, right?"

"Right," Hermione confirmed uncertainly. "I presume you noticed the coin warming from the Protean charm, then?"

"Yes," Zacharias supplied with a nod, flipping the coin in the air and stowing it back in his pocket. "I didn't know what the numbers were right away until I realized you two were giving away your location. Or, well," he amended, " _former_ locations, I should say."

Harry's brow furrowed at that. "How long have you been looking for us?" he asked slowly, his green eyes fixing uneasily on Zacharias. "It sounds like you know an awful lot about how we've been getting away from Snatchers."

"Well, it's not _so_ complicated," Zacharias sniffed, and again, there was something distasteful for Hermione in his expression. "You essentially stay somewhere for a few weeks and then cast a Patronus charm right before you leave, don't you?"

"Yes," Hermione confirmed uncomfortably. "We figured it would be like hiding in plain sight if we led the Snatchers to a place we'd just been and then went somewhere far away."

Zacharias nodded, a trace of _I knew it_ painted unsettlingly across his smugly quirked up mouth.

"It's very clever," Zacharias agreed slowly. "Very effective, too. But seeing how you two were the ones to teach us all how to cast a Patronus charm - "

"Well, Harry was," Hermione mumbled unhelpfully.

" - and there was never anyone there by the time anyone arrived, I figured it must be a bit of Granger's brainy skullduggery," Zacharias finished, offering her what she supposed might have been his version of a compliment. "I started making a note of the numbers and realized they matched up."

"How long did it take to track that?" Hermione asked uncertainly. "That's a very, erm" - she glanced at Harry - " _tedious_ process. And what did you use to match the coordinates on the D.A. coin to the places the Patronus charms were cast?" she pressed, finding herself curious.

At that, Zacharias blinked vacantly. "Ah, you know," he managed, recovering quickly from his momentary pause. "I'm just a resourceful guy." He forced an uncomfortable laugh. "Given the times, of course. I tried a couple of months ago," he added, "but the uh, timing was off."

"Right," Hermione agreed softly, feeling a blow of warning strike against her chest.

There was a pause.

"A very sensitive thing, timing," Harry pronounced slowly, before glancing anxiously at Hermione. "Um, Hermione, can I get you to help me with something outside?"

"Water," she suggested instantly, trying not to look suspicious. "Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration," she half-shouted by way of explanation, ignoring Zacharias's bemused glance and leaping up from her seat, yanking the door open and leading Harry outside.

"Something is wrong," Harry whispered, letting the door shut behind him as they wandered to the creek that flowed adjacent to the cabin. "Doesn't it seem like he knows too much?"

"I thought at first I was being paranoid," Hermione commented, biting her lip, "but he really does, doesn't he?"

She pressed a hand to her temple, trying to think what solutions possibly lay before her.

"Why wouldn't he have come to find us _before_?" Harry prompted. "If he knew where we were a couple of months ago - "

"Maybe he couldn't," she muttered, and then gasped as pieces began to shift together. "Harry," she said, suddenly gripped with fear, "what if _Zacharias_ is a Snatcher? That would explain why he would have access to finding out where the Patronus charms were cast - "

" _And_ why he wasn't able to get to us before," Harry realized, suddenly going pale. "You-Know-Who tracks Snatchers on a registered portkey network, he wouldn't be able to leave if we had been far enough away that he couldn't get back in time - "

"What do we do?" Hermione squeaked, trying to restrain her rising hysteria to a hush. "I mean, if he's a Snatcher, then are we" - she lowered her voice, catching sight of where he was watching them through the window, and weakly raised her hand, offering him a thoroughly unconvincing wave of assurance - " _totally fucked?_ "

Harry shifted uneasily, considering the question.

"He hasn't done anything yet," Harry cautioned warily, "and he clearly didn't tell any authorities about the Protean charm we used from the D.A. - "

"Probably because he doesn't want You-Know-Who to know he was ever in it!" she exclaimed, well on her way to panicking. "He didn't stay at Hogwarts, Harry, he didn't fight on our side before - how do we know we can trust him?"

Harry was obviously struggling between the facts before him and his unfailing empathy. "I don't know," he muttered, shaking his head. "I really don't, and I obviously don't want to be wrong here - " He hesitated. "I don't want to abandon him if he really needs help - "

"But if he's here _now_ , then that must mean we're near wherever he's stationed," Hermione reminded him breathlessly. "There could be other Snatchers here, and I - "

She was interrupted by the sound of the door slamming behind her.

"Need help?" Zacharias called cheerfully, coming up behind them and putting an arm around each neck. "Seems like you're doing a pretty terrible job of getting water, eh, mates?"

Harry glanced at her, eyes wide. _Think of something,_ he begged.

"Well, this water is, er, slightly cloudy," she said quickly, "from um, sulfur, I think - "

"Gross," Zacharias remarked, wrinkling his nose.

"Yes," she agreed, swallowing, "so Harry and I were just going to go into the woods, and - "

"Why don't I join you?" Zacharias suggested smoothly, his arm tightening around her shoulder. "I could use a nice walk, couldn't you?"

"I, um - sure," she said, immediately heading into the thickest part of the forest, hoping for an opportunity to run. _If we can set a distraction,_ she thought frantically, _if we can just do something -_

She moved her hand slowly, reaching for the wand in her pocket; Zacharias gripped her arm quickly, forcing her to pause mid-reach.

"What are you looking for, there, Granger?" he asked genially, and then his smile was _far_ too unsettling. "Need your wand for something?"

 _Oh god, oh god, oh god -_ she looked helplessly to Harry, who still looked torn -

 _That Zacharias bloke's a wart,_ she heard Ron say, and decided she wasn't willing to chance Harry's safety on whether or not Zacharias Smith could be trusted.

She drew her wand, pointing it at him. " _Expelliarmus_!"

He, infuriatingly, cast a quick _Protego_ , laughing as the force of it threw Hermione and Harry backwards, separating them.

"Don't forget who taught me to duel," Zacharias reminded them, lips still curled into a smile. "I learned from the best, didn't I?"

Harry struggled to his feet. "S _tupefy_!"

The spell ricocheted as Zacharias ducked and Hermione stood, raising her wand. " _Expuls-_ "

" _Expelliarmus_!"

Her wand went soaring out of her hand, landing at Zacharias's feet. "Ah, ah, Granger," he said, picking it up and pocketing it, "careful now - "

" _Stupefy_!" Harry called again, which Zacharias countered with a _Confringo_ of his own, missing Harry by a matter of inches and exploding the base of a tree nearby.

"Don't touch him!" Hermione shouted, lunging for Zacharias. She wound up, punching him furiously in the nose; as Zacharias doubled over, she turned, looking for Harry in what was quickly becoming a wreckage of bark and branches. "Harry," she sighed, trying to pull him to his feet, "we have to go, we have to - "

"I can't apparate," he told her, yanking her back to gesture to a deep cut in his leg. "I'll get fucking splinched, and there's no more Dittany - "

She looked at the wound and grimaced. "I need time to fix it," she said desperately, glancing around, "and I need my _wand -_ "

"Looking for this, Granger?" Zacharias called from behind her, gesturing to her wand in his hand. "Here, let me help you cast, shall I?"

She watched in horror as he raised her wand, aiming it upwards. " _Expecto Patronum -_ "

"No!" she yelled, racing towards him and fighting to grab it from his hand, but it was too late; a silvery snake crept out of her wand, and she could have sworn she watched it grin at her, tongue flitting mockingly between its teeth, before slipping out through the canopy of trees.

 _They're coming_ , she thought desperately, looking around for Harry. _Apparition is out, I have no wand, Harry's hurt -_

And then she caught something in Zacharias's glance; his eyes flicked to the side, like he was looking for something. She squinted, seeing something shiny, something just near to where Harry was lying - _a hairbrush_ , she realized, then frowned. _A hairbrush in the middle of the woods -_

"Harry," she shouted, pointing, "Harry, it's a portkey - "

She pivoted quickly, trying to run to him as she heard the scattered sounds of apparition from an incoming swarm of Snatchers. "Harry, grab it, quick!"

Zacharias shoved her aside, racing to get to Harry first, and she stumbled, glancing over her shoulder at the distant forms that approached. She raced to where Harry was lying, and then everything happened at once, in less than an instant -

Harry reached out, his hand poised for Hermione's fingers, just as Zacharias reached him -

Zacharias took hold of Harry's arm, gripping it, Hermione's wand still in his hand -

Harry's free hand closed around the portkey's handle -

She reached for him -

His eyes met hers, widening in fear -

And then there was nothing -

 _Nothing -_

Only a vacancy in the air where his fingers should have been.

She collapsed on the ground as Snatchers closed in around her, closing her eyes so as not bear witness to the world as she knew it erupting in flames.

* * *

 _ **2005 (Present)**_

* * *

Hermione woke, gasping, expecting to see the faces floating above her, to feel the shackles of magic slip around her wrists and ankles, her arms outstretched for Harry; instead she felt as though she landed softly back against the pillows, an arm securely draped across her waist.

She turned her head to look at him; his pale blond hair was askew, his shirt wrinkled, his face a strange, placid calm that felt a thousand miles away.

"He's probably alive, you know," she heard from somewhere beside her, and she turned her head, catching sight of Bill where he sat at the edge of the bed. His gaze strayed warily to the line of Draco's back, and then returned to hers. "Harry, I mean."

 _I don't know,_ she thought. _I don't know for sure, and that's the problem._

"Not like you can prove it," Hermione muttered, sighing. She was shaking from the memory. "Nobody can."

Bill pursed his lips slightly, gracing her with a look of tactful skepticism he must have inherited from his mother. "If Harry were dead, I think _he_ would know," he explained, gesturing brusquely to Draco again. "And he clearly doesn't."

"That doesn't mean much," she countered, withering slightly. "There are probably a lot of things he doesn't know about."

"Still, given his employer," Bill said flatly. "I think that particular information might have struck him as pertinent, don't you?"

"Well, 'he's _probably_ alive' isn't quite enough for me," she determined morosely. "It still hurts not knowing." She swallowed a painful dose of something that bubbled up in her throat, a mix of fear and dread and longing. "That hurts more than anything, I think, just trying to hold onto - "

"What, hope?" Bill supplied, and she had the faintest notion that he was forcing the word out, trying not to choke on a scoff. "I do appreciate your realism, Hermione," he reminded her stiffly. "I'm not advising you to have blind faith."

"What are you suggesting then, if not hope?" she prompted, already regretting having gotten into this with him.

"The man's a Slytherin," Bill reminded her, gesturing again to Draco. "Cunning and all that. He's got to have an angle." He glanced dubiously at Draco's sleeping form as the blond shifted, his fingers floating over her hips. "My guess is the only reason you're here is that he promised them you could lead him to Harry."

"The thought had crossed my mind," she confessed, though she instantly regretted it, seeing a slow, triumphant smile spread across his lips. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to listen to you, you know," she concluded sharply.

"I know that," he returned, his eyes flashing. "It's why we're good together, Hermione."

"Were," she corrected softly. "Why we _were_ good together." She paused, realizing what she was saying. "And we weren't good together _at all_ ," she clarified, frowning. "We were - "

"Electric," he reminded her, shifting to sit closer to her on the bed. "You remember the first time, don't you?"

 _You can't just sit here and mourn, Hermione - they won't stop for his death, and neither can we -_

 _How dare you?_ she'd demanded. _How dare you discard him like that -_

 _Discard him?_ The anger in his eyes had been indistinguishable from the rage on her tongue. _You think I am capable of discarding my own brother?_

 _You already have!_ she shouted. _He's gone, isn't he? And you want me to just -_

 _I don't want you to do anything,_ he said, the words hoarse and broken, like he'd ripped them from his throat and cast them at her feet. _I don't want anything from you, Hermione._

 _You don't?_ she whispered, realizing that his chest was pressed to hers.

And then he'd stared at her, his eyes raking over her, and she'd stared back, panting, passing her tongue roughly over the dryness of her lips.

"Of course I remember," she murmured, closing her eyes.

She'd been different then; she didn't know how to take what she wanted - she barely even knew what it was to _want_ \- and so she'd waited, breath suspended, until his lips crashed on hers.

And it _was_ a crash, all of it. She remembered it that way, the feel of being thrown against something immovable; a collision, and a rapid destruction. If she'd ever thought her first time would be tender or gentle, she'd been wrong. It was rough, somehow, raw and artless, but she preferred it to her imaginings of what things could be, because in his arms she felt feverish and alive. It was pain, at first, molten and rich, like rage, and as it faded she could breath again, the ebb of loneliness gone with it.

She had looked in his eyes and seen it, too, the tide of pain receding, if only for a moment in each other's arms. She'd clung to it - to _him_ \- every night, trading her hollow sorrows for rapture.

"You never listened to me," he reminded her, and she imagined his face, the feeling of his scars under the fluttering pads of her fingers. "But you always did what was right in the end."

"I do have a talent for doing what's necessary," she agreed quietly, picturing Harry's face as the portkey pulled him away. "Does that mean you've changed your tune, then?" she asked, squinting at Bill. "Are you saying I should trust Draco now?"

"I'm saying you should use the common interest you share with Draco," Bill corrected carefully. "And as for my tune," he added, reaching out to let his fingers hover possessively over her lips, "you know as well as I do that _you're_ the one who determines what I'm singing."

* * *

Draco woke to Granger shifting towards him under his arm, her fingers tracing the path of his jawline.

"Made it another day, then," he murmured sleepily, reaching under her to pull her closer.

"Looks like it," she whispered back, running her thumb over his lip. He kissed the tips of her fingers and watched her shiver, eyes wide, before pulling her face towards his and pressing his lips to hers.

She was tentative at first, the kiss pulsing between short, shallow breaths, and then she melted, tension giving way to sweetness, and gladness, the taste of promise on her tongue. She pulled him closer, closer, _more_ , until he'd rolled over on top of her, her hips arched up to meet his as he kissed her, over and over, his hands starting to travel down her waist as she buried her fingers in his hair.

He could go further, he thought, as she moved to meet his touch; he could push her if he wanted, because maybe she wanted him and _fuck_ , did he want her, and then _how bad could it be?_ and _what's the worst that could happen?_ and maybe just once, _just once_ -

But she reached up, smoothing his hair away from his face, and the moment he looked in her eyes he was so startlingly close, paralyzed on the edge of something dangerous. He shook on the precipice of something between tragedy and euphoria, and if he tipped towards one, he might open the door to the other.

Anything more than this with her would destroy him, he could feel that from a touch, could see it in an instant. She was the living manifestation of his guilt and his pain, and yet somewhere in her eyes, still somehow his redemption; and at the impact of having all of him brought before her, faced with the sum of what she was, he feared her and he burned for her.

 _Let me amount to nothing but this._

He kissed her again, slowly, and then once more, more a hazy shudder than a kiss.

"There are things you don't know about me," he told her.

 _I have blood on my hands._

"I know," she whispered back. "Me too."

 _You don't know what she's made of._

"I'll get some food," he said softly, dragging himself away and pouring himself back into the world that somehow sluggishly ticked on outside her.

* * *

"Well," Luna remarked, crossing both legs underneath her as she settled herself on the bed. "That was lovely, I think."

Hermione glanced at her, sighing. "I'm not sure I like it when you're here," she commented warily. "You have a tendency to make me think about things I'd much rather not."

"Ah, true," Luna agreed. "Funny that you would turn to me for truth, isn't it?"

"Is that what I'm doing?" Hermione asked faintly. _Funny indeed._

"Certainly," Luna confirmed, nodding. "You trust me the most, because you know I wouldn't lie to you." She tilted her head thoughtfully. "Mostly because I don't know how, I suspect."

Hermione scoffed at that. "You lied to me before," she reminded Luna, chastising her slightly. "The foxfire, remember? You tricked me into coming after you."

"Oh, don't be silly, Hermione," Luna countered gently, offering her a vacant smile. "I had no way of knowing you'd come after me."

"See?" Hermione groaned, throwing her hands up. "That right there. _That's_ a lie."

"Oh, pish," Luna declared cheerfully, swatting playfully at Hermione's knee. "I had no way of _knowing._ I had suspicions, of course," she acknowledged sagely, sobering for a moment, "but those fall under a completely separate category."

"Now you're just being reckless with semantics," Hermione grumbled, and Luna let out a small, tinkling laugh.

"You may be right," Luna offered, shrugging amicably. "I've never been very good at reading appropriate behavior. You would think Harry might have been helpful for that," she added, frowning with thought. "But I think he is also a bit adrift in social situations."

Hermione bit back a laugh. "Birds of a feather," she supplied, and Luna smiled.

"Well, in any case," Luna continued, resting her chin on the heel of her hand. "You must have wanted to ask me something."

"I don't know that I'm ever really dying to talk to you," Hermione said skeptically, knowing she was being a bit unkind and forging ahead regardless.

"Well, no, you wouldn't be, because I'm the truth teller," Luna reminded her. "The truth rarely takes a desirable form, I think."

"You're not undesirable," Hermione offered weakly, penance for her prior tactlessness.

"Ah, your attempts at niceties are appreciated," Luna remarked happily, beaming as though the statement had been effusive praise. "Not fully comprehended, of course, but I do possess a general capacity to acknowledge effort for its value."

Hermione suppressed a quiet groan at the other witch's unfailing oddness. "This is exceedingly tiresome," she commented moodily. "What is it you're here for, Luna?"

"You tell me, Hermione," Luna returned primly, eyes wide as she waited.

There was a pause.

"Why me?" Hermione demanded resignedly, giving into general exhaustion.

"Because I'm in _your_ head," Luna provided, and then smiled at her admission. "Look," she added brightly, "now you've tricked _me_ into something!"

"Tricked you into _what_?" Hermione asked gruffly. "How could I have tricked you into anything?"

"You've bamboozled me into giving myself away, of course," Luna chided her gently. "Clever you, Hermione," she added, glowing with pleasure.

"So you're not real, then," Hermione sighed, throwing herself back against the pillows. "I mean, I knew you weren't _real_ , but - "

"Well, I've confirmed that I'm in your head," Luna commented, a gentle correction. "The concept of _real_ being, of course, a matter of perspective."

"Semantics again," Hermione muttered, glaring at the infuriating blonde.

"Oh, you're right!" Luna exclaimed exuberantly, clapping her hands together. "Semantics," she repeated, looking as though she'd never heard anything more wonderful. "What an absolute delight."

* * *

Draco stepped off the elevator at the Ministry, anxious to leave the moment he arrived. He was never completely comfortable leaving Granger behind, and considerably less so now. Which was in itself, he supposed, a prime example why he should not allow things to go any further with her.

He pictured her smile over breakfast, the way she licked the crumbs from her lips and the flushed as she caught him watching.

There were _many_ reasons things could not go further, he reminded himself, _all_ of them prime, and not the least of them being the kind of world they now occupied. As teenagers, yes, maybe; when she'd offered him a way out the first time. Then, yes.

But _now_ , in a world where he was required to ascertain a permit in order to travel outside the country? The time for _going further_ was long past. He could only hope that Lucius would not attempt a floo call, or that Theo would not appear at his front door, or -

"Mr Malfoy," the witch at the window called, gesturing to him. "You need something?"

"Yes, apologies," he muttered under his breath, collecting himself and wandering over to her window. "I need a permit to apparate outside the country."

"Oh?" she asked, pulling open a file cabinet that had been cleverly magicked to fit an entire room's worth of papers with a practiced air of efficiency. "Which hemisphere?"

"Northern," he said. "Europe. Specifically France."

"Ah, excellent," she said robotically, flipping open a large, leatherbound book that emitted a vast puff of smoke upon opening. "Have you traveled outside the country before?"

"Yes," he said impatiently, finding her question unbearably stupid. She knew who he was, didn't she? "My family has several properties scattered throughout Europe."

"Excellent, excellent . . . and is this for business or pleasure then, Mr Malfoy?" she asked, glancing up from her paperwork to smile hospitably at him.

 _Is there an option for life-threatening and potentially fruitless endeavor?_ he wondered, before determining it would be wisest to disregard accuracy entirely.

"Pleasure," he replied mechanically, trying not to be reminded of Granger's tongue on her lips as he said the word. "Just a quick stop by one of my other manor homes," he added.

"Very well," she agreed. "Region, please, and location of apparition?"

"The southeast corner of the forêt de Tronçais," he provided, the edge of which _did_ contain an old Black property from ancient Roman times, though he wasn't entirely certain it was anything more than grievously haunted ruins.

"Excellent," she replied vacantly, flicking her wand to turn to a page within her massive book. "Should be no problem at all, Mr Malfoy, I'll only have to - oh," she remarked, frowning. "Hmm."

"Oh?" Draco repeated anxiously, straining to see. "Hmm?"

"Yes, apologies, Mr Malfoy," she provided slowly, "but it seems this region has been flagged. Someone wished to visit it quite recently," she noted, adjusting the book so that he could squint at the glowing red print. "And it appears they have now gone missing."

"Missing?" Draco repeated, aghast. "Who?"

"I'm not at liberty to say," she informed him pertly. "Which I'm _sure_ you understand is - "

He left his wand slip into his palm, casting a quite _Imperio_ and waiting as her eyes suddenly glazed over with a momentary glassy sheen.

"One moment," she mumbled, glancing down again at the book.

"You were telling me who had tried to visit the forest," Draco said carefully, glancing around to be doubly sure nobody was watching.

"I was telling you who tried to visit the forest," she agreed, staring blankly at the page, "the name of the person being Smith, comma, Zacharias."

At that, Draco's heart promptly began to pound.

"And when did he apply to visit?" he asked, trying not to let his obvious strain reveal itself in his voice, lest inquisitive minds be listening. "You were specifying the time?"

"I was specifying the time," she repeated blankly, "the time being early this year, 2005."

"Ah," he said, trying not to let the stampede of thoughts that traveled through his brain suddenly crush him - _who was he looking for? Are we looking for the same person?_

And then he kicked himself, remembering their last encounter, and the obliviation that had gone with it. _Where the fuck is he now?_

"You'll unflag the location," Draco began, "no, wait - scratch that."

"Scratching that," she mumbled in agreement, her eyes looking dim and notably elsewhere.

"You'll remove record of Smith altogether," he instructed, "and you'll give me a new permit, and we'll agree to keep it between us."

"We'll keep it between us," she said with a nod, and he watched as she dutifully removed evidence of Smith and conjured a permit with his name, adding her signature with a flourish at the bottom.

"Much obliged," he murmured, slipping the permit in his pocket and flicking his wand again, bringing her back to consciousness.

She blinked slowly, squinting as though she were trying to readjust to the light. "What was I saying?" she asked, appearing quite lost.

He'd always been quite handy with an Imperius.

"You were informing me that it would be against Ministry policy to alert me to any previously flagged visits," Draco supplied curtly, "and I agreed that it would be an utter breakdown of administrative efficiency and, in many respects, a violation of human decency."

"Well, that all sounds a bit extreme," she remarked, frowning. "But not by much," she decided with a nod, letting the overlarge book fall shut and passing him an idle smile. "Is that all, then?"

 _No, that's not fucking all,_ he thought vigorously, wishing to shake her for the inanity of the question.

Not that doing so would do him any good.

"Yes, that's all," Draco muttered back, wondering once again _what the actual fuck_ he was doing.

* * *

"If I use Luna for truth," Hermione ventured, turning to look at Harry and coveting the sight of his face, "then what are the others for?"

He tilted his head thoughtfully. "Bill is your cynicism," he decided with a nod. "Bill is the voice of warning that keeps you safe. Ron is your tie to your past," he added. "And Ginny - " He paused, a look of fondness passing over his face. "Ginny is your hope."

"And what are you?" she asked, looping her arm in his.

"I'm your reason to keep going," he promised, blessing her with a smile.

* * *

Draco loped up the stairs, pushing the door open to her room. She glanced at him and he watched as it took a minute for her eyes to focus, as though her mind had traveled from somewhere very far away.

"What are you, do you think?" she asked, considering him from afar. "To me, I mean."

He stood silent at first, startled by the question, and just when he thought he had no answer, he choked on an eruption of words.

 _Enemy. Captor. Traitor._

He swallowed. _Lover._

"I don't know that I'm anything," he told her, feeling beaten down by the question. "Maybe I'm just your person," he offered. "The one you have to go through this with so that you don't have to do it alone."

He moved to sit beside her on the bed and she shifted, making space in her atmosphere and turning to face him.

"Do you think that's enough?" he asked, wondering if he was begging.

She inched towards him, resting her palms on his chest. "Does it matter?" she asked, reaching up to run her fingers over his cheek.

 _I have blood on my hands,_ he thought vigorously, closing his eyes at her touch. _I'm a coward and a fucking fool, and I have no idea what I'm doing -_

"A reluctant hero is a hero still," she whispered, her breath tickling his ear.

He pulled her into him, shutting his eyes.

"Just tell me a fucking story," he sighed, and he felt her smile, her lips brushing against his neck.

"Once, there was a snake," she began, "who lived beside a river."

 _Well,_ he thought. _That's either highly literal, or extremely obscure._

"A ferryman offered to take two fairies across the river, demanding gold as payment. The ferryman, who was not very careful with his hiding place, left the gold in a rocky cleft, where it was discovered by the snake."

"The snake," she continued, "wishing to shine like gold, and hungering for opportunity - "

 _Opportunity_ , he thought, recalling the last story. _I see your tendency towards opportunism suits you_ , he heard Theo say again to Smith.

Smith. He shuddered, pushing that particular bit of mystery out of his mind.

" - hungering for opportunity, the snake consumed the gold, finding himself luminous from its consumption. Because the snake had been so greedy, and clever indeed with his aims, he was able to study things that no other man or beast could see, lit from the illumination of his own misdeeds."

"As it happens," she continued, curling up in his arms, "a Prince in the kingdom stumbled upon the snake, and revealed to the snake that he had fallen in love with a fragile but beautiful lily. The Prince was distressed to learn that anyone who captured the lily was destined for death, and so he feared he would never reach her. The snake, knowing many secrets, and knowing the weakness of the Prince's heart, offered himself falsely in service, and stretched himself to form a temporary bridge, allowing the Prince to cross to the beautiful lily's garden."

"The Prince, who had trusted the snake, and who walked in pursuit of his heart's desire," she said, a hint of bitterness creeping into her tone, "succumbed to his desire for the beautiful lily, and in his haste to reach her, he rushed towards her without regard for his own safety, and fell to his demise; and all the while the snake stood by in mirth, too full of stolen gold to feel remorse."

 _Betrayal,_ he realized, recognizing anger in her features. _She was fucking betrayed._

"But the snake was a fool," she whispered, "for he did not know then that a Prince may not be defeated at the whims of a snake. And the Prince, for his devotion to the lily, was brought back to life - "

 _And yet she spoke into the wind -_

"We always rise," Draco murmured, joining her chorus of resilience.

She looked up at him, the slightest bend to her smile.

"You don't have to do it alone," she said, threading her fingers through his.

 _And it was true - as true as the pulse of her heart - that the day boy, for all that he shone, was made to fit within her little chasms, to fill her up with light._

* * *

 **a/n:** Inspired by _The Green Snake and the Beautiful Lily_ by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. Dedicated to tmtcltb!

Regarding any confusion in this fic: yes, there is some, I understand, but trust that I will give you information as we go. Your two narrators have some faulty information and varying experiences post-war, so it will be some time before they work out what's actually happening.

Also, I wouldn't normally feel inclined to give a hint like this, but at this point in the story, you should have an inkling that unless a character is specifically stated to be dead, you can assume they are currently alive and wandering around somewhere that I will eventually reveal.


	14. The Dance of Prospect

**Chapter 14: The Dance of Prospect**

 _The boy was taught to idolize the day, to find himself warmed by the rays of the sun, and to be thoroughly steeped in it, that he might glorify in what the monster had given him; and so, in the absence of day, he felt himself suspended, waiting for what might come._

 _The night girl, who comforted him in the dark, would point to the shadows, to things that seemed, to the day boy, to be merely tricks of the light - less blessings of sun and more instruments of torment, existing only so that he might be carried quite low in desolation, growing cold amidst the dark. But she, stronger for her suffering, would not allow such wretched defeat; she asked, instead, how he could dare to simply watch the world pass, when so many gifts remained, so many things still shone, even in the absence of light?_

 _And as he looked upon her, he wondered how he had not seen; for though she was raised in darkness, she was brighter even than the sun._

* * *

 _ **2002**_

* * *

The Dark Lord cleared his throat, though no such gesture was necessary; the mere presence of his breath could spill silence over a room more effectively than any spell Draco had ever witnessed. Draco wondered momentarily if the Dark Lord did, perhaps, have something in his throat - if such things even occurred to the criminally immortal - but then the Dark Lord's eyes fixed on him and he forcibly shook his mind clear, ever the practiced Occlumens.

"This evening," the Dark Lord began slowly, "we will begin, as always, with you, Amycus." He looked lazily down the table and Amycus nodded.

"Some prospects," he grunted. "Spencer Whiddon graduates in the spring, and I expect he'll top the ranks of his class."

"Whiddon," the Dark Lord repeated, frowning. "Patronage?"

"Fawley on his mother's side," Amycus supplied, and heads at the table mutely bobbed in approval at the Sacred Twenty-Eight name. "Same as Damon Gosforth - cousins, I think - though that one's got another year."

The Dark Lord nodded. "Any others?"

"Too soon to tell," Amycus determined gruffly. "The younger Bulstrode boys have the pedigree - "

"I didn't care for the father," the Dark Lord interjected sharply. "Temperament was too - " he paused, pursing his lips. "Barbaric."

"The twins are relatively meek," Amycus said. "Pliable, I'd wager."

"There's an older girl, is there not?" the Dark Lord mused, curling his skeletal hands around his chin. "Brute of a chit, if memory serves."

"My wife," Goyle murmured quietly from his seat across from Draco, reddening slightly.

"Ah," the Dark Lord said, his eyes sliding over to Goyle. "Pity."

Goyle, wisely, said nothing.

"In any case, I expect a few more months of close scrutiny will do them some good," Amycus said evenly. "A bit more discipline."

 _Discipline_ , Draco thought, fighting a shiver. The Cruciatus Curse had taken on such deplorable new nicknames since he'd been in school.

"Very well," the Dark Lord said, flicking his wrist as though to rid himself of the topic. "Moving forward - " he looked up, glancing at Mulciber. "Darian?"

"My Lord," Mulciber began, inclining his head in assent. "We've apprehended one of the rumored members of the Ord- "

He stopped. The Dark Lord flinched.

"We've apprehended a witch we believe to be a close associate of Ha- "

He stopped again. This time, the Dark Lord drummed his fingers angrily against the desk.

"Who is she?" the Dark Lord muttered quietly, not looking up. Nagini slithered into his lap and he stroked her head languidly with his right hand, his knuckles starkly white against the fist in his left.

"Luna Lovegood," Mulciber said, and Draco caught a sideways glance from Theo on his right, a tacit acknowledgement of recognition. "Daughter of Xenophilius Lovegood, the former editor of the Quibbler."

"That loon," the Dark Lord scoffed under his breath, but seemed to think better of it, raising his eyes to glance questioningly at Mulciber. "Who is she, again?"

Draco could see this was a ploy of some sort; he could tell by the bitter flaming of the Dark Lord's eyes that he had not forgotten Lovegood - _could_ not forget her; was haunted by her, likely, and the evidence she served of his past mistakes - but the question spoke volumes.

It was a challenge of sorts. _She's nothing,_ the Dark Lord warned them. _So far beneath me, beneath_ us _, that no such person can stand against my memory._

"An associate of - "

Mulciber stopped, and the Dark Lord growled his disapproval.

"Just say his name, Darian."

Mulciber took a deep breath. "She's an associate of Potter's," he said, rushing the name out and looking as though he expected to be struck by lightning at any moment. "One of the thirteen remaining Order members to have been reported at large in the past two years - "

"Twelve," the Dark Lord corrected.

"Apologies, my Lord," Mulciber insisted quickly. "Do you speak of the eldest Weasley?" he asked hopefully, practically salivating at the thought; he, like the others, had not taken kindly to Macnair's slaying.

"The youngest," the Dark Lord supplied, glancing momentarily at Lucius, who sat at Draco's left. "Though I can't imagine why such things would interest you," he warned coolly, and as he surveyed the table, Draco caught something in the Dark Lord's gaze, a flicker of what might have been satisfaction.

Draco glanced at his father, who bowed his head. A past mistake, Draco realized, then frowned, remembering a diary, a small girl with vibrant red hair, and the depths of his father's blazing shame -

He tore his mind away, trying to focus instead on the Order members that remained. _Twelve,_ he thought, counting in his head. _Potter, the oldest Weasley, the ear-less Weasley, Lovegood, Finnegan, Thomas, Longbottom, Abbott, Jordan, Corner, Johnson -_

And then one more, whose description they'd likely never read in the Daily Prophet; namely because her one notable occasion for theft had gone unreported.

Draco thought of his encounter with Granger and shoved it forcefully out of his mind, resolutely clamping down on any loose images of bushy brown hair that might escape if he allowed his musings to wander.

"In any case," Mulciber said, brushing aside his unwise request for clarity just as Draco stiffened in his chair, "we have Lovegood."

The Dark Lord nodded. "Put the girl on trial," he said instantly, scarcely sparing a moment to consider it. "He came for her once - "

"Twice," Theo muttered to Draco.

" - he'll come again," the Dark Lord finished smoothly.

 _Interesting_ , Draco had thought, sparing a moment for amusement. _Suddenly he remembers her._

"We'll be ready," Mulciber promised, pleasure glinting in his dark eyes.

But when it came to Harry Potter, Draco should have known better; perhaps they all should have, save the Dark Lord himself.

But they could never have been ready for the ways in which they were humbled, could they? Because they were fools who believed a man who wished to live forever could somehow also be wise.

* * *

 _ **2005 (Present)**_

* * *

He opened his eyes slowly, memories still drifting hazily through his mind.

 _Do you know why I call you Death Eaters?_ the Dark Lord had asked once, long before Draco might have thought to question what he was.

 _Because,_ the Dark Lord had said, the words oozing out of his mouth like honey, his followers lapping at them like cream, _because together, we will make fools of Death._

 _It had been glorious once, hadn't it?_ Draco thought. It had been power and victory, his spine too firm to break, his teeth too sharp to fail - a _Death Eater._

 _Together, we will make fools of Death._

And yet he'd seen it, Death; and it had been Draco who'd been fooled.

But there was a time before that, when he had sat in rapture, in wait, in the speechlessness between awe and fear, before he'd known that such things - a Dark Lord's brand of power and victory - came at a cost. The Dark Lord had asked for his soul and for a time, he'd expensed it willingly, too young and too sheltered to have known just how dearly he'd paid.

He glanced at her, at the slope of her shoulder beside him, and felt the arduous twist of it in his chest -

 _Payment._

He slid the back of his hand against her arm and she turned, a slow smile spreading across her face.

"Hi," she whispered - _you're real,_ he felt her say - and he kissed her, and he kissed her, and he _kissed her -_

She shifted, facing him, and brought her hand to his chest, her fingers passing slowly over the dull thudding of his heart and then up to his neck, running her thumb across his throat as though to prove that she owned him, that she could contain and control him, and he held tight to her hips, doing the same.

 _Together, we will make fools of Death,_ the Dark Lord had said, but _this_ was life, every inhale a drop of anguish and every exhale a gasp of rapture, and Draco, weighed and found wanting by every possible measure, expensed what remained of his soul with breathless fervor.

She slipped her leg between his and pulled him closer and then there was an ache to her, a desperation, and what remained of him clung to what was left of her, her hands passing over him like she could learn his secrets with the tips of her fingers, and he pushed against her, offering them up.

He pulled back, wanting to see her face, to ask her _are you sure?_

 _Are you sure it's me you want?_

She gazed up at him, recognizing the question in his eyes, and swallowed, her lips parting.

"I - "

There was a loud bang from downstairs and he tightened his grip on her as she jumped in alarm, tucking her head under his chin.

"Theo," he murmured, meaning to be comforting, though it emerged as a frustrated growl. "I'll go see what he wants."

She nodded, and he stood, contemplating what might have been on the tip of her tongue - whether it was to destroy him, or merely devastate him - until she pulled him back, grasping tightly to his wrist.

 _Yes,_ she told him, in a way he'd come to understand, and he leaned forward, brushing his lips against hers one more time.

"I'll be back," he promised, and then forced himself to leave, padding down the stairs.

"What?" he demanded impatiently, throwing the door open, and then paled as he saw Theo's attire. "Oh no - "

"Fucking ' _oh no_ ' is right," Theo determined, pulling irritably at the collar of his black robes. "Forgot, did you?"

"Appears that way," Draco admitted, glancing down at his wrinkled trousers and sighing. "I've had some other fucking things on my mind - "

"Doesn't matter," Theo muttered, too unsettled for banter. "Get dressed. We're going to be late."

* * *

 _I have some things to do today,_ he'd murmured to her, and she could hear the apology on his breath, could see the cloudy haze in his grey eyes, full of things he wasn't saying. _I'll be gone for a while._

Nothing good, she knew.

 _Don't hurt anyone,_ she wanted to beg, just as much as she wanted to plead _and please, please don't get hurt -_

But she stopped her tongue just in time, forcing silence down her throat instead and watching the line of his back, the secrets he kept in the tension between his shoulders. She wondered if she could smooth them out between her fingers, if she could take them and make them hers; if they could feed each other on their many courses of silence, of things they _didn't say_ -

"He's really very handsome," Ginny remarked casually, and Hermione turned, startled to see the redheaded witch climbing into the bed beside her. "Though I suppose I find myself helplessly attracted to the brooding, agonizing type."

Hermione, too tired to laugh, managed a smile. "You think he's agonizing?"

"Certainly," Ginny agreed, nodding firmly. "His life isn't what he thought it was."

"Whose is?" Hermione asked, looking around the room. _Certainly not mine,_ she thought, feeling the warmth of his sheets, his clothes, his unmistakable pressure on her heart.

"He doesn't strike me as the type to part easily with his illusions," Ginny commented. "I imagine it's a very exhausting process for him."

"I clearly can't part with _mine_ ," Hermione pointed out, gesturing to Ginny herself. "Luna tells me this is all in my head, you know."

"Well, Luna doesn't lie," Ginny permitted thoughtfully, letting her arms flop down at her sides. "It's one of her more infuriating features."

"I agree," Hermione muttered. "It's really quite an unpleasant habit of hers, the truth-telling."

"I think that's why Harry liked her," Ginny said with a shrug. "Even before he loved her."

Hermione squinted at her, looking for pain, but saw nothing but a flicker of nostalgia in the younger witch's brown eyes.

"In any case," Ginny sighed, "perhaps you could stand to give it a try."

"What, honesty?" Hermione asked, startled. "With Draco, you mean?"

"Sure," Ginny chirped, burrowing into the blankets. "You know," she added, her voice muffled, "to save him the effort of brooding alone."

Hermione shook her head, fighting a sighing laugh. "Haven't I been telling him the truth?" she countered.

"You've been telling him _truths,_ " Ginny corrected. " _The_ truth - in the grander scheme of things - not so much."

Hermione rubbed her temple wearily, turning on her side to face Ginny.

"This is a lot of contradictory opinions, even for my fractured psyche," she mumbled. "Surely this wouldn't be Bill's advice, or even Harry's - "

"Well, they don't call you the brightest witch of your age for nothing," Ginny said, nudging her. "You contain multitudes."

"I contain indecision, clearly," Hermione muttered petulantly, burying her face in the pillow.

"Not indecision," Ginny said. "Things change, you know. You used to need him for survival." She looked questioningly at Hermione, who did not respond. "Now you need him for something else."

Hermione's breath caught, and she turned to look up. "What else?"

Ginny smiled her lovely, wicked smile. "I'm not Luna," she reminded her. "I'm not here to help you see truths."

"You're my hope," Hermione said, remembering what Harry had told her and feeling a dawning realization. "What I feel for Draco - is it hope?"

"In a sense," Ginny said with a shrug. "It's hope, forgiveness, and gratitude." She paused, tilting her head as she glanced at Hermione, "but it's also resentment, doubt, and fear, in parts."

"Sounds right," Hermione agreed under her breath, frustrated by the contradiction.

"And one more thing, too," Ginny added, her playful smile turning merciless. "One more thing he makes you feel."

Hermione opened her mouth to ask what, but then paused, thinking of his arms around her, his breath as it skated across her skin.

 _Want,_ she realized slowly, her heart beginning to pound. _A want that's edged with destruction, a want that feels like devolution; a constant, screaming want._

She opened her mouth a second time, but nothing came out.

"Oh, don't worry," Ginny assured her, closing her eyes with a languid sigh. "I'm not Luna." She cracked one eyelid, looking every inch the fiery menace she'd once been. "I won't make you say it out loud."

* * *

"Are you ready for this?" Theo asked, fidgeting in agitation as they stepped through the Floo at the Lestrange manor home. At Draco's hesitation, Theo stopped, pulling him back.

"What is it?"

Draco tugged uncomfortably at his cuff. "Nothing."

"Fuck you," Theo said instantly, then frowned. "Get it out now," he warned, and Draco sighed.

"I'm having dreams," he admitted, casting his eyes down. "But it's nothing."

"Dreams?" Theo pressed quietly. "Or memories?"

Draco glanced up at him, not wanting to confess.

"Fuck," Theo deduced, shuddering; the look of dread was more than answer.

 _Cursed from birth, and we taught ourselves to hide._

"Do what you can," Theo murmured, and Draco nodded, making the effort to clear his mind as they wandered towards the formal dining room.

The Lestrange home was drafty and medieval and Draco had never happily stomached it, but today in particular felt especially gloomy. The light from the single wrought iron chandelier flickered against the grain of the dark wooden table below, bathing the dozen or so men in a dismal, funereal glow, the pale faces stark against the ceremonial black robes.

Lucius was already there, his gaze fixed intently on the wood before him as Draco settled into his seat at his right.

"Father," Draco said, and across from them, Gosforth's eyes flicked up curiously as Lucius gave him a stiff nod.

As vigorously as Draco attempted to nudge aside his memories from the previous night, it was difficult not to draw a comparison; at the time of the Ministry raid, their numbers had been burgeoning, with most of the Dark Lord's original Knights still present. Following the disaster those three years before, the Mark was now reserved for the rare, loyal few; the sparingly chosen who possessed the Dark Lord's implicit trust, and with little attempt at recruitment.

The others, with their despicable mortality, had failed him before.

They heard the sound of footsteps approaching from the Dark Lord's wing and stiffened in their seats. It was a meld of generations that sat scattered about the long table; Amycus remained, of course, unkillable by nastiness alone, along with Rowle, Mulciber, Avery, and some that remained of Lucius's era. There were the younger few, Gosforth and Whiddon, among others, but of the so-called War Era, only Draco and Theo remained.

Theo nudged Draco's knee with his; _do what you can._ Draco, soothed by his presence, relaxed slightly, if only for a moment.

The Dark Lord entered the chamber and they rose, heads bowed, until he took a seat at the head of the table, Nagini slithering in behind him to twine herself lazily around the arm of his chair.

"Gentlemen," the Dark Lord said, gesturing for them to sit. "You'll understand that I wish things to be brief. There is some fluster at the Ministry." His slitted gaze traveled slowly around the table, pausing momentarily - and alarmingly - on Draco. "Duty calls," he murmured, his expression placid, "and Lord Voldemort is nothing if not attentive to the needs of the Wizarding World, is he not?"

Heads bowed in agreement around the table and Draco cast his eyes down, not wanting his mind to buzz with whatever the Dark Lord might have been implying.

"Darian," the Dark Lord said, and they all glanced down the table at Mulciber, "any problems?"

"None," Mulciber replied, and Lucius, who co-monitored most diplomatic and governmental issues, nodded his agreement. "There is some rumor of unrest outside of Britain, but - "

"Stifle it," the Dark Lord said instantly, glancing at Lucius. "Your former contacts remain?"

"Yes, my Lord," Lucius supplied smoothly. "It's nothing more than leaderless chatter, and we will be certain to stomp it out before it progresses."

"Good," the Dark Lord pronounced firmly, with an edge of finality. "If I hear of this again, I will be immensely disappointed. You've not forgotten, I presume," he ventured, his gaze traveling once more to Draco, "what my disappointment looks like?"

Draco fought a shudder, holding eye contact this time, conjuring a blank mental canvas to smooth out the frayed edges of his thoughts.

"No, my Lord, we have not," Mulciber provided, and the others nodded again, a ripple of brittle, unspoken fear cooling the air between them.

"Excellent," the Dark Lord proclaimed. "Rowle," he erupted sharply, "have you spoken to Greyback?"

"Business as usual," Rowle replied. "There was a brief skirmish among mudbloods resisting arrest perhaps a month ago, but nothing too high profile. Smith's gone missing," he added offhandedly, as though he'd just remembered.

"Smith?" the Dark Lord echoed. "The Snatcher?"

"Yes," Rowle confirmed with a nod. "Failed to catch his last portkey out of Hogsmeade, as did some of his crew."

Draco felt something tighten in his gut as Theo's fingers twitched uneasily beside him.

"Interesting," the Dark Lord murmured, but something about the look on his face told Draco that this was not entirely news to him. "A curious disappearance."

"He's a Snatcher," Rowle determined with a shrug, as though this were explanation enough; Draco was relieved to see that many at the table nodded their agreement. "Last seen at Rosmerta's. Greedy bit of rubbish, and they've all got a tendency for drink."

"True," the Dark Lord conceded. "Perhaps it is merely . . . coincidence."

His gaze traveled to Draco's a third time, and this time, Lucius's fingers tightened around the arm of his chair. Gosforth, across the table, seemed to have noticed the repeated glance as well, his eyes narrowing curiously as Draco stared straight ahead, trying to suppress his nerves.

"Well," the Dark Lord said, clearly settling himself to move to the next topic, "if there's nothing else - "

"What about Malfoy?" Gosforth suddenly suggested, and Draco felt his chest tighten abruptly, recalling Smith's words - _some very interesting rumors indeed,_ he'd said, _that Malfoy here might have a certain Order mouse in his possession -_

 _If anyone were to find out who she was,_ Lucius had warned sharply, _you truly know nothing of the consequences -_

Draco opened his mouth to speak but was cut off, to his great surprise, by his father.

"You should listen more closely, Damon," Lucius retorted sharply, appraising the young Death Eater through narrowed grey eyes. "I've already given my report."

Draco caught Theo's curious sidelong glance out of the corner of his eye and forced himself to remain impassive.

"Not you," Gosforth said sullenly, gesturing to Draco. " _He's_ got - "

"I suggest you not speak out of turn," Lucius interrupted. "Perhaps you've forgotten, Mr Gosforth, that you are the least senior member at this table, and are thus subject to the treatment of your betters?"

Gosforth cowered, not having forgotten the sting of Lucius's wand, and the Dark Lord chuckled quietly from his seat at the end of the table.

"Mind your elders, Gosforth," the Dark Lord chided him softly. "Lucius is not an enemy I'd wish upon you." He paused, and Draco briefly met his eye. "Is he, Draco?"

"No, my Lord," Draco managed, his voice low but steady. "My father is not one that I would advise Gosforth here to cross. Nor am I," he warned, narrowing his glance at the young Death Eater. Gosforth's gaze hardened, lines of rebellion forming around his mouth, but he said nothing.

"Perhaps not," the Dark Lord mused softly. "In any case," he determined, louder, "this is all we have time for today, I believe." He placed both hands on the table and rose to his feet, the others quickly leaping to mirror him. "You all have your orders. Oh," he remarked, his skeletal mouth twisting mirthfully, "and Draco?"

"Yes, my Lord?" Draco choked out, startled to be addressed a second time.

"Get some sleep," the Dark Lord determined, a glimmer of knowing amusement in his slanted eyes. "You look distinctly . . . unsettled."

"Yes, my Lord," Draco tried to murmur, but by then he had left, Nagini's body thudding to the floor and slithering after him, her scales scraping against the hard floor.

There was a low clatter around them of chairs being pushed away, and Theo leaned in, speaking into Draco's ear.

"That was fucking weird," Theo murmured, glancing up at Gosforth, who was sulking; _nursing his pride, no doubt,_ Draco thought, before promptly shoving his chair back and following after Whiddon. "I thought you said he didn't know who - "

"He _doesn't_ know," Draco replied under his breath. "He'd never heard of her."

"You think this is just him being petty, then?" Theo ventured, gesturing for them to head back towards the Floo. "Trying to get in with" - he motioned to where the Dark Lord had exited the room - "by making you look bad?"

"You know Gosforth resents me," Draco reminded him bitterly, angling himself to follow. "They all do. And as for - "

He felt a tight grip on his arm as Lucius pulled him back. "Draco - "

Theo turned as Draco suddenly halted, catching sight of Lucius, and nodded his understanding; _I'll wait,_ Theo mouthed, and Draco offered him a weak smirk of gratitude before turning to face his father.

"Yes?" Draco asked wearily, and Lucius pulled him into the corner, his grey eyes flitting suspiciously around the room before rounding on him.

"The Snatcher that disappeared," Lucius hissed. "Did you have something to do with that?"

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather be alone with your suspicions?" Draco retorted, yanking his arm out of his father's grasp. "Seems like you prefer them to me."

"I saved you in there, Draco," Lucius reminded him sharply. "I warned you that this could happen, that something could get out - "

"Surely we're both aware that you covering for me serves your own purposes just as much as it does mine," Draco snapped. "I could have _easily_ handled Gosforth on my own - "

"In this setting? Doubtful," Lucius snarled back. "The Dark Lord already has questions, Draco, and he is not so slow to fit pieces together that you can carry on like this for long - "

"If finding Potter were such an easy task, he'd be long dead," Draco muttered angrily. "In fact, if it were such a fucking simple feat, perhaps _you'd_ have delivered him by now, wouldn't you?"

At the slight, Lucius merely scowled.

"What has she given you?" Lucius pressed. "If the answer is nothing, Draco, _so help me_ \- "

"She was betrayed by someone," Draco supplied, thinking about what he'd gathered; the snake who hungered for opportunity, the clever girl who was spared for selfishness. "Someone she believed was on her side. Which means," he added thoughtfully, "there's someone out there that both sides think they can trust, and at least one of us is wrong - "

"And how does that lead you to Potter?" Lucius demanded furiously, though he made a point to adjust his volume, looking around a second time to be sure they were not being overheard. "This is not a _game_ , Draco - "

At that, Draco burned with simmering resentment.

"It was never a fucking game," he spat back. "It was always a gamble with my life that _you_ took, and now I've got to figure it out for myself."

Lucius's mouth tightened into a firm, grim line. "I can't always cover for you," he warned.

"I know that," Draco muttered impatiently.

"I won't always be here to deflect the questions that you will _surely_ get - "

"I _know -_ "

" - and I would suggest that you - "

"It's too much to ask that you have faith in me, isn't it?" Draco ventured brusquely, interrupting. "It's completely out of the realm of possibility that you might take my side unless _you_ have something to gain, isn't it?"

Lucius scowled, saying nothing.

"I can do this," Draco asserted roughly, stung by his father's silence, "and Theo's waiting, so - "

He turned to leave and Lucius grabbed his arm roughly, like he was still a child to be disciplined; like Draco was still a boy that Lucius could frighten.

"I grow very tired of you turning your back on me," Lucius seethed, the words a quiet whisper that escaped between clenched teeth.

"Funny," Draco remarked, glaring coldly at him. "I could have said the same."

* * *

Hermione heard voices coming from downstairs and slipped out her bedroom door, listening from the landing at the top of the stairs.

" - fucking _unbelievable_ ," said a voice she'd come to recognize as Theo Nott's. "That absolute fucking _arsehole_ \- "

"Frankly, I'm surprised anyone would care he's gone missing," Draco's voice murmured, and Hermione crept slowly down the stairs, catching a glimpse of his pale hair. "The Dark Lord recognized his name, didn't he?"

"He _is_ fairly good at his job, from what I gather," Theo muttered. "Not that I'm happy to give him any credit _whatsoever_ \- "

"Took over from Scabior, didn't he?" Draco said. "Fucking Snatchers. Rowle was right about one thing, at least - they're rubbish human beings."

"Him even more than average," Theo grunted. "I can't imagine they'll spend much time on his disappearance, though, unless they connect it with - "

"Our missed portkey," Draco sighed, and Hermione frowned, recalling Theo's shouts the night he'd deposited a blood-covered Draco onto the carpet of his living room floor - _you have to do something but I have to cover our tracks, there's - fuck, an illegal apparition, missed the portkey - we're fucked, Granger,_ fucked _-_

"There's more, too," Draco added, and Hermione's heart pounded, straining to cobble pieces together as she waited. "I went to the Ministry yesterday to get an apparition permit to go to Tronçais in France, and he'd already _been there_ , something like five or six months ago - "

"You're fucking _kidding me_ ," Theo half shouted, and Hermione listened as he threw himself down on one of Draco's ornate sitting room chairs. "Tell me that you fucking, I don't know - "

"Imperiused the Ministry witch," Draco supplied irritably. "I'm not stupid. Had her remove record of him to unflag the location - "

"But what the fuck does he even _want_ there?" Theo demanded. "And fuck, now are we going to have to track him down and - "

Hermione held her breath curiously as there was a pause, and a whispered _fuck_ from Theo.

"What are they talking about?" Harry asked, crouching beside her.

"Hush," she breathed, holding a finger to her lips.

"Yes," Draco said, " _fuck_ is exactly right."

"I obliviated him," Theo said bluntly. "Are you telling me he's now some kind of link to where Potter is?"

Beside her, Harry grimaced. "Wonder who they're talking about," he whispered, and Hermione shrugged. _Could be anyone_ , she mouthed, and Harry nodded his agreement.

"Not Potter," Draco reminded Theo, "Firenze, which might be something different altogether."

 _Firenze,_ Hermione thought, glancing at Harry. _In France?_

Harry, to her disappointment, shrugged.

"Besides," Draco added briskly, "who's to say Smith's even interacted with Potter in the past seven years?"

" _Smith_ ," Harry pronounced with a darkened glower, and at that, Hermione could take no more; she launched to her feet, running the rest of the way down the stairs.

"Smith," she said breathlessly. "Zacharias Smith?"

The two men, both dressed head to toe in black formal robes, turned their heads sharply to look at her. Draco was standing, leaning against the mantle of the fireplace, and Theo was slumped in a chair, his hand to his forehead.

"What?" Draco said, blinking, but Theo recovered faster, shooting up from his slouched position and rising nimbly to his feet.

"Yes," Theo said. "Yes, Smith." He glanced curiously at her, his expression melting from shock to a weakly guarded entertainment. "Granger," he attempted, offering her a curt nod of greeting.

"Smith," she repeated faintly. "Zacharias. That's who you're talking about?"

Theo glanced questioningly at Draco, who appeared to be rapidly putting pieces together in his head. His grey eyes widened, cogs turning, as Theo then turned back to Hermione, shrugging helplessly.

"Yes," Theo said tentatively. "Do you, um - know him?"

She felt her heart pound out a rhythm of unabated fury as she clenched her fists. "Yes."

"Theo," Draco erupted suddenly, startling them both as he jerked his head up to look at Hermione. "Get out."

"What?" Theo squawked, holding out a slender arm to gesture to where Hermione stood at the foot of the stairs. "You think I'm going to fucking leave _now,_ when she's standing there and about to _tell us_ \- "

"I'll come see you tomorrow," Draco said, gesturing to the Floo, "but get out _now_." He glanced back at Hermione, and in a breath, she knew that he knew. "I have to talk to her."

"Yes, okay, wonderful," Theo protested, "but - "

"Out, Theo!" Draco barked, and Theo sighed, grabbing a handful of powder and scowling as he tucked himself inside the fireplace.

"Fine," he muttered, "but you should know that I'm not _fucking_ thrilled -"

"I'll bring you an apology fruit basket," Draco snapped, "now _go -_ "

And with the somewhat huffed eruption of "Nott Manor," Theo disappeared in a murky cloud of ash.

The moment he had gone, Draco had her in his arms.

"The snake in the story," he murmured, and she reached up, running her fingers along his spine. "It's Smith, isn't it?"

"Yes," she said quietly.

"He betrayed you."

She shut her eyes, forcing a dry swallow. "Yes."

"He's the reason you were caught," Draco ventured. "He 'offered himself falsely,' you said - did he - "

"He came to us for help," she whispered. "He told us he wanted help, but he - "

"You and Potter?" Draco asked, tangling his fingers in her hair. "Was it just you two?"

She nodded, and he held her tighter.

"But you were found alone," he said in her ear, "so does that mean - "

"He was the last person I saw Harry with," Hermione confirmed, and when she paused to look she realized, cruelly, that once she had spoken his name aloud, Harry was nowhere to be found, disappearing once again into the very air around her.

* * *

She swayed a little in his grip and he collected her in his arms, carrying her up to his bedroom and laying down beside her on the bed. She said nothing more, and so he took a moment to consider what she had said, turning the possibilities over in his mind.

 _He came to us for help, he told us he wanted help -_

Draco fought a murderous rush of anger, thinking of Smith's smug face, of his wretched arrogance.

 _But he was a fool, for he did not know then that a prince may not be defeated at the whims of a snake -_

Smith must have known, at some point or another, where Potter was; had he suspected him of taking up hiding in France? Why would Draco's search for a lost centaur lead him to the same place as Smith's hunt for Potter? _Was_ he hunting Potter? And how had they -

"Did he do this to you?" Granger suddenly asked, tracing her fingers gently over the scar on his side. "Smith."

Draco took a deep breath, promptly remembering with outrage that they'd _both_ been on the receiving end of Smith's intolerable arseholery, even if hers had been the more extreme. "Yes," he confirmed. "I'd gone to the Forest with Theo, and he followed me."

"The Forest," Granger repeated, pulling away to look at him.

"Yes," Draco confirmed, feeling a heated rush of shame as he remembered the number of things he hadn't told her. "I was - "

"Looking for Harry," Granger supplied, and he nodded, shutting his eyes. _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I have blood on my hands -_

"He must be alive, then," Granger whispered, and Draco slowly relaxed, grateful she didn't pull away from him. "He must be _somewhere -_ "

"If Smith's still a Snatcher, then I'd imagine so," Draco confirmed. "There's no way he would pass on an opportunity to offer him up to the Dark Lord if he'd had him, or even killed him."

Granger shuddered in his arms. "No," she agreed.

A common enemy was an interesting turn of events, Draco realized, noting the harsh glimmer of resentment that seemed to strike in her eyes at the thought of Smith. He realized, too, that the admission that he had been looking for Potter had not seemed to surprise her; and he wondered, then - for perhaps the first time - whether she had some conception of what was happening. Of the deal that had been struck to keep her alive.

 _Of course she did,_ he reminded himself. _She's Hermione Granger._

Did she trust him, then? The information she provided, however abstract - if she did it purposefully, was she offering him something?

"I don't know why he'd be in France," Draco ventured carefully. "Do you?"

She paused for a moment. "No," she confessed, but she looked thoughtful, like she was turning over the idea in her mind and looking at it from every angle.

It wasn't a lie, he knew that much; he'd been around enough liars to know the energy in a room when truths were being withheld.

"If you did, would you tell me?" he asked, settling nervously into the real question at hand.

She glanced at him, reading past the words.

"Are you asking me to trust you?" she asked softly.

He held his breath. "Would you, if I did?"

 _Are you sure it's me you want?_

She slid against him, pressing her lips to his; _not an answer_ , he thought, but he gave in, pulling her against him as he kissed her, trying to breathe comfort into her lungs even as he took it desperately from hers.

"Once," she whispered, when they drifted slowly apart, her lips still brushing his, "there was a King who had twelve daughters."

He looked down at her, brushing a loose curl from her cheek. "A King," he echoed softly. "And twelve daughters."

 _Tell me,_ he begged. _Tell me anything._

She smiled. "Yes," she murmured, "and he locked them in a single chamber, bolting them in each night, surprised to find every morning that they had somehow escaped from their prison, their shoes danced to pieces each evening, evading the tyrannical King."

 _Twelve,_ Draco thought, counting in his head. _Potter, the oldest Weasley, the ear-less Weasley, Lovegood, Finnegan, Thomas, Longbottom, Abbott, Jordan, Corner, Johnson -_

And then one more, whose golden eyes met his.

"The King, furious that the princesses continued to elude his command, released a proclamation, that any who discovered where they danced at night would receive the King's blessing and favor; but that any who tried and did not succeed should forfeit his life for his failure."

 _Well,_ Draco thought grimly, _that certainly sounds familiar._

"Many princes tried and failed, and were put to death as the princesses continued to dance through their shoes; but there was one," she said, reaching up to let her thumb drift across his cheekbone, "a Prince so steeped in sun, who knew, somewhere in his soul, that no rightful King would seek to punish so recklessly, nor capture so cruelly."

He pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist, and she continued. "The Prince decided to take his chance and offered himself to the King, that he might be the one to discover the princesses."

"The eldest Princess could see that the Prince was no selfish man untouched by suffering," she told him, "and so she took pity on him; and when the other princesses, who trusted none but themselves, offered him a cup of wine, she whispered to him not to drink it, but only to pretend; to let the wine run down his chin and then lay still, as if in the deepest sleep."

"The Prince, surprised, but finding the eldest Princess to be sincere, consented to pretend, doing as she instructed; and the princesses heard his snores and laughed, thinking themselves safe yet another night."

"Instead," she continued, "the Prince followed them as they descended underground, traveling in their midst as they walked along a pretty avenue of trees, lined with silver leaves that shone and glistened, even in the midst of the dark. He traveled invisibly beside them, taking the eldest Princess's lead, until they had passed trees that shone like copper, and more that sparkled like diamonds, and they arrived at a great mirrored lake, with a dozen princes for each of the princesses, dancing until sun threatened to expel its rays over the horizon, the shoes, once again, danced to pieces."

"The Prince, letting his eyes pass over the spectacle of light and beauty, knew that the next morning the King would put to him the question ' _Where have my twelve daughters danced their shoes to pieces in the night?'_ and he would be forced to give them up; but as the Prince considered how he might open his mouth to answer, he stopped, seeing sorrow in the eldest Princess's eyes, and felt a stirring of sadness, knowing it would be her last night to dance."

"' _You have spared me_ ,' he said to the Princess, ' _and now I shall spare you_.' And so he told her to run, to vanish with her sisters; to remain amongst the glittering trees rather than surrender themselves to the King."

For a moment, thinking the story over, Draco felt saddened in a wistful way, charmed into a solemn sigh; but she caught his chin in her hand, lowering his gaze to settle on hers.

"But the Princess could not leave him behind," she told him, her voice an enchanting murmur, "and so she held out her hand for his; and for keeping her secret, she offered herself to the Prince, that they might both escape as the sun rose above them, warming them until they both shined like gold."

She stared at him and he scanned her face closely, breathless as he waited. _Are you sure it's me you want?_

"I trust you," she whispered, her fingers brushing his lips. "If you'll trust me."

He nodded, speechless, as he tangled his fingers in her curls; he trapped his hope in her breath, and what remained of him clung to what was left of her.

 _As he looked upon her, he wondered how he had not seen; for though she was raised in darkness, she was brighter even than the sun._

* * *

 **a/n:** Inspiration from _The Shoes That Were Danced to Pieces_ by the Brothers Grimm, sometimes referenced as _The Twelve Dancing Princesses_. Dedicated to SuperMegaFoxyAwesomeHot2001 (great username) for your lovely and very thorough review - and to everyone: Happy Halloween!


	15. The Fellest Swoop

**Chapter 15: The Fellest Swoop**

 _The day boy, who had never known the truth of night, began to question himself; to wonder how it was that he, a creature of sun, could exist in the same space as she, a vessel raised in dark. If day and night were balanced on the razor-edge of horizon, was one to exist without the other? Or was day meant to devolve, reaching its golden arms into the mourning tendrils of night?_

 _For as day must always die in the arms of night, he thought, so too must he only exist to perish in the depths of her brightness._

* * *

 _ **1999**_

* * *

"She's gone," Harry gasped, panicked. "I woke up early and I looked for her, and - she's just _gone_ \- "

Ron struggled to sit up. "Mate," he mumbled sleepily, "what?"

"Luna's gone?" Hermione asked, frowning. "I presume she went after her father, then," she determined grimly, shaking her head in disappointment. _Foolish,_ she lamented, and brushed it aside.

Harry stared blankly at her. "You presume she went after her - " he cut off, blinking. "That's all you have to say? You _presume_?"

Hermione, who normally understood Harry quite well, gaped at him in confusion. "What am I supposed to say, Harry?" she demanded, a bit more tartly than she would have if she hadn't suspected she was being accused of something unsavory. "What on earth am I supposed to say in response to the news that Luna has done something" - she inhaled sharply - " _loony_ , as per usual?"

"You're not supposed to _say_ anything!" Harry barked, waving his arms in frustration. "You're supposed to get _dressed_ " - he reached over, pulling the duvet from her grip - "and get out of bed, so that we can go after her!"

" _What_?" Hermione erupted, and Ron, recognizing trouble, came unsteadily to his feet, stepping between where Harry stood and the edge of Hermione's bed.

"Now hold on," Ron said gruffly, silencing Hermione's protests with a warning glance and then turning to Harry, "let's be reasonable here - you know I love Luna," he added carefully, hand outstretched like he meant to soothe Harry from afar, "but Xenophilius, on the other hand, I have" - he glanced again at Hermione, who shrugged, tight-lipped with anger - "mixed feelings about."

"Mixed feelings," Hermione scoffed under her breath, just as Harry burst out, "It doesn't matter what kind of feelings you have!"

Ron sighed. "Mate, listen - "

"No, _you_ listen," Harry shouted back, his green eyes wild with a look of purpose that Hermione - unfortunately - was all too familiar with. "I don't care that he - "

"Nearly turned us over to You-Know-Who," Ron supplied gruffly. "Thus nearly _killing us_ \- "

" - he was willing to do something awful to save his daughter," Harry growled, ignoring him. "He was in a terrible position and maybe if we had been in his place - "

"No, Harry," Hermione interrupted quietly. "We would never have done what he did."

"Aren't you doing that _now_?" Harry countered, rounding on her. "Isn't that fact that you don't want to help him and Luna the same thing he did? Putting himself first at the expense of someone else?"

"This is _different_ ," Hermione said, finally launching herself out of bed and stalking towards him. "This is walking straight into a swarm of Death Eaters, Harry, and it means an _incredible_ amount of danger, considering the whole world thinks you're dead - "

"And what good does that do anyone?" Harry argued. "Me being dead, who does that help?"

"You!" Hermione reminded him, shaken with disbelief at his failure to acknowledge the obvious. "Harry, there's no magically surviving _three_ killing curses - "

"Well, the first one was sort of monumental," Ron said, "and the second equally bloody unlikely, so the possibility for a third is really - "

"Shut up, Ronald!" Hermione yelled. "You're not helping!"

"You heard what Luna said," Harry said, flinging the words at her in desperation. "That I'm responsible for more than just destroying him - I'm responsible for giving people _hop_ e - "

"Yeah, well, you might be immortal," Ron sighed. "Wonder if we are by association," he suggested brightly, and Hermione glared at him.

"What are you saying, Harry?" she demanded, frowning at him.

"I'm saying people deserve to know I'm alive," he said, teeth clenched in frustration. "That's what makes me the Chosen One," he reminded her, his voice suddenly withering, and she recognized the words in Luna's voice, shaking her head.

"She did this on purpose," Hermione muttered, sinking back against the bed. "She _knew_ you'd go after her - "

"And I'm going to," Harry insisted stubbornly, pursing his lips. "Whether you come or not," he added, widening his stance and waiting.

It was madness, really, but unavoidable; a familiar feeling of Harry-related finality settled on them, and she and Ron exchanged glances. Ron sighed heavily, his neck disappearing warily into his shoulders; she groaned.

"Fine," she muttered, though she couldn't prevent a childish stomp of her foot against the floor of their tent as she stood. "But we need a _plan_ , Harry - we're not just going in there wands drawn with no idea what's waiting for us - "

"Though that has worked in the past," Ron remarked, before straightening curiously. "Where is Xenophilius?" he asked, a flicker of worry nudging itself into the weary lines of his face. "His house?"

"Not possible," Hermione reminded him. "Erumpent horn, remember? There's no way there's anything left of that house but rubble."

"Luna had been there," Harry supplied quietly, and for the first time, Hermione wondered how intimately the two of them had spoken. "She'd stopped by the house to find things, and that's how she knew he was in danger - something about a Snathering Swishblade - "

"Ugh, she probably means some item with an _Essestatum_ charm," Hermione muttered, reaching up to rub her temple. "The same spell that makes Ron's mum's clock work."

"Hope it's not actually some kind of blade," Ron remarked with a shiver. "I wouldn't take bloody kindly to one that said _mortal peril -_ "

"The point is, she knew," Harry said furiously. "And I'm certain she went after him."

Hermione huffed an exhausted sigh. "Fine. Let's think about this." She glanced up. "Where would they have been keeping him after we last saw them?"

"I've been a bit out of touch with the world," Harry reminded her, looking frustrated. "Shouldn't _you two_ know what he's been doing with prisoners?"

Behind them, Ron emitted an undignified squeak.

"What?" Hermione and Harry asked in unison, whipping around to face him.

"Azkaban," he told them, his face paling. "You-Know-Who started using it for his own purposes while I was - " he cut off, glancing down. "While I was away," he said quietly, and Hermione knew he meant the period of time when he'd briefly abandoned their horcrux hunt.

"The dementors do answer to him," Harry recalled, slightly shaken. "Do you think - "

Hermione saw the spark in his eyes and rushed to intervene. "We have to find out what's happening there," she protested breathlessly. "Before we do anything. Before we - "

"There is no before!" Harry roared, directing every ounce of his furious impatience at her. "There's no _time_ , Hermione, don't you see that?" He began pacing the floor, glaring at her. "It takes _minute_ s for a dementor to take your soul, Hermione - maybe less! Don't you _care_?" he demanded. "Doesn't it bother you, what might be happening to him?"

"It takes anywhere from three to six minutes, Harry, I know that - I read everything I could find about it after it almost happened to you," she snapped, "so don't you accuse me of not caring, Harry Potter, don't you _dare -_ "

"Look," Ron said, getting to his feet and stepping once more between them, "we have to go, and soon, but if he's in Azkaban, it's not going to be easy to get there." He took a deep breath. "If we're going, we have to go now."

 _I'm sorry,_ Ron seemed to tell Hermione in the sloping of his shoulders, but she wasn't surprised; he stood with Harry first, she knew, though not in the way she might have hoped.

Harry looked at Hermione. "Are you coming?" he asked quietly. "I'm going, with or without you." He paused, and she let silence linger between them. "Are you with me?" he asked, and she felt a hitch of fear cool itself, dissolving into her veins.

She sighed. "I will be steadfastly with you until the day you die, Harry," she said quietly. "And that's exactly what I'm afraid of."

* * *

 _ **2005 (Present)**_

* * *

Hermione sat up with a gasp, panting; Draco reached an arm around her waist, sliding himself up against her, and she slowly remembered where she was.

"Just a dream," he murmured in her ear. He reached up, pulling her forehead to his shoulder. "You're here. You're safe."

She glanced down at the Mark on his wrist and felt her blood run cold. _I'm here,_ she thought. _And I'm safe, but -_

The flood of fear in her veins. _I will be steadfastly with you until the day you die, Harry._

 _We live together,_ she thought, _or we die together -_

She wondered if Draco knew; if he could ever possibly have understood the many ways he held the entire bud of her existence between the tips of his fingers, between the span of action and inaction.

"You made a deal to get me here," she choked out, reaching helplessly for her throat, and she felt his grip on her tighten in response. "What was it?"

She could feel his heart pounding, but he said nothing. He was rigid against her now, the things he didn't wish to say bottled up in the grim lines around his mouth.

"It was my life for his, wasn't it?" she ventured. Behind the covered windows, the sun was swelling forth, the coppery haze restrained by sets of dark drapes. "For Harry's."

As he took a breath, she wondered whether she was ready to hear the answer.

"No," he managed eventually. "Not exactly."

She opened her mouth - _are you lying to me?_ she thought of asking, but then remembered the ripple of understanding from the previous night. _I trust you -_

 _If you'll trust me._

"What, then?" she asked, holding her breath, and he, instead of answering, pressed her back, bracing himself above her as he lowered his head to brush a kiss against her lips. It was a selfish kiss, she could hear it in his sharp inhalation; _give me this,_ he seemed to say, and took it. _Give me this, and I will give you truth -_

And so she kissed him back, reaching up to slide her arms around his neck, pulling herself up so that her chest met his. His torso was bare - he preferred to sleep that way - and she, wanting to take something from him in return, slipped lower, the shirt she wore sliding up against her waist so that the slimmest inch of her skin met his.

The single touch, the sweep of him against her, rocketed through them and he bore down on her, reaching his hand to her stomach, desperately pulling at the fabric between them until she had nearly wriggled out of it, caught underneath her arms; they broke apart long enough for him to pull it over her head and in the moment that she was without him she felt a slap of desolation - the hollow cleft between them suddenly stretched so thin that to reach him she would have to walk on wire, kiss her feet to burning stone - and then he was against her again, warm - hot - _scalding_ \- and the pressure of him seared through her, igniting her; sacrificing her to something too ravenous to be holy, too starved to be truth.

 _How many sins_ , she thought, and tasted them; greed, covetousness. Anger, in a sense, in the way she tore at him, like his flesh would wither at her touch and like she _wanted him to_ , for what he stood for. For what he'd done; whatever he'd done. Pride, in the way she would burn to own him before he overtook her. Was it gluttony to crave him this way? She'd experienced less rapture in the rote mechanization of a prayer than in the line of his cheek, or the parting of his lips; just as she felt more wretched in the slightest breath of his absence than in the reflection of any crime she'd committed - and she was no saint.

She could feel him, hard against the curve of her thigh, and she remembered what it was like to want something, to feel the kind of longing that could be filled and warmed and sated; unlike the rest of her existence, which gaped, hanging loosely from her edges. She imagined what it would feel like, whether his rhythm would pulse with hers; whether he would take her slowly, with hesitation and longing, or voraciously, with manic energy; whether she even had a preference in the end, or if she merely lived in the space between their wants.

Strange, she thought, to ache like this, to feel an itch of _please please please_ and wish it to be answered with a thrust of _mine mine mine_ ; what a strangely normal thing to want.

She could feel, all at once, all the places that they touched; the precise pressure of his hands on her, down to the swirl of a fingerprint. _Mine mine mine._

 _Give me this,_ he'd said, and she gave. But it was time for truth, and she pulled away, her fingers still embedded in his sides.

"If you don't bring them Harry?" she asked, and he blinked, dragging himself back to the room with her, from the possibilities of her curves to the swell of sunlight against the curtains. To the truth he owed her.

"You die," he supplied, and she grew conscious of his hips against hers, the way life sprung so relentlessly between them.

"And if you do?" she offered.

He swallowed. "You both die," he whispered.

"Ah," she said, challenging him in a glance. "A poorly drafted agreement."

At that - at the glimmer in his eye that must have matched hers - he kissed her again, ferociously. She recognized fury in him - felt it in the quickening of his pulse - and she braced against him, rolling over him so that she was looking down on him. Her hair fell around her shoulders and he, confined within the delicate whims of her mercy, brushed it aside, pressing his lips to her bones.

"If you lose," he promised, the sound muffled against her skin, "I lose."

She pulled back, running a thumb along the arch of his brow. "Are we that connected?"

He looked hurt; between degrees of pain, it appeared somewhere around a sulk. _Aren't we?_

She sobered. _Perhaps we are._

"You are the manifestation of every wrong I've ever committed," he murmured. "Every foolish decision I ever made. Every truth I denied, and every lie I believed." He pulled her hand to his lips, kissing her fingers. "You are as much my punishment as you are my inevitability."

 _My fate,_ she thought, but tucked the idea inside herself and buried it.

"Every time you've entered my life, I've been presented with a turn," he continued carefully, "and I have faced you with indecision."

"And now?" she asked, slipping a finger between his lips and watching with fascination as he bit down, tasting her.

She watched for irony in his glance, but found none, despite the words: "I can't decide."

A pause, a loaded silence, another criminal pang; _envy_ , she realized, at the things that might outweigh her in his estimation.

"I'm a manifestation," she mused, adjusting herself against him so that her skin slid across his, watching the expression on his face as she knew he thought as she did: _mine mine mine_. "Not a person of my own accord?"

A breath; _please please please._

"I fuck people," he said brusquely. "I ruin them. But it appears I've chained myself to your manifestation, and therein lies the distinction."

 _I'm a phantom,_ she thought. _Bereft of body; inhabited by ghosts._

"Chains," she echoed, pushing his arms up overhead and bracing herself against them. "You feel trapped?"

"Caged," he muttered in agreement, closing his eyes. "Enslaved."

She leaned forward, her lips brushing against his jaw. "And here I thought I was your captive," she whispered.

"In a sense," he replied.

 _Mine mine mine._

"The deal I made," he said, his eyes fluttering open. "We all lose. We all break."

"Good plan," she murmured, slipping into melancholy, and he rolled her over, stretching her out underneath him.

"I have to see Theo today," he reminded her. "You heard him. I have to tell him what I know."

It was jarring reminder of where they were, how they appeared from the outside, and she wondered if she could come back from it. This was what trust looked like to him, she realized, in a hazy moment of cognition; he took the truth and placed it, clumsily, on a platter for her consumption.

 _I trust you, if you'll trust me -_ this is what it looked like.

She could say nothing, shutting her eyes as the warmth of him dissolved into a chilling pool of fabric. _So steeped in sun,_ she thought, and when she opened her eyes, the light of him had been extinguished.

* * *

"Well," Theo said expectantly, rising as Draco strode through the Floo, "where's my apology fruit basket?"

Draco sighed. "How have I not murdered you already?" he mused, and Theo shrugged.

"Too pretty," Theo replied, and at Draco's scoff, he shook his head. "Not me," he clarified. "You. Too pretty to suffer the consequences. Waste," he added, throwing himself back against the sofa. "Total waste of moonlit blond."

"Apology fruit would be easier, I agree," Draco said, settling himself beside him. "So," he began.

He waited.

"So," Theo ventured, slapping his hands on his knees. "What the fuck?"

"You'll have to be more specific," Draco retorted, sparing him an impatient sidelong glance. "There are a number of fucks I can't explain."

"Fucking Granger," Theo supplied, then made a face. " _Not_ fucking Granger, I hope," he warned sternly, jabbing a finger at Draco.

"You know, I find this attitude of yours very jarring," Draco remarked, attempting to appear fully dispassionate in the matter as he nudged Theo's accusations away. "I've never known you to take such firm ownership of my dick before."

"I trust it very little in these matters," Theo replied simply. "I've long suspected it of a fondness for certain inadvisable Gryffindors."

"Your understanding of my dick is elementary, at best," Draco sniffed. "Your suspicions are misplaced."

"My suspicions are _not_ misplaced," Theo said gruffly. "You sent me _out of the room_ to talk to her, unless you've forgotten - "

"She wasn't going to talk to _you_ ," Draco pointed out, scoffing at the concept. "There's a rapport there, remember?" he added, gesturing to himself. "Between us. One which you - very notably," he said adamantly, " _lack_."

"I didn't get sent away because of your 'rapport,' Draco," Theo countered, rolling his eyes. "And you thinking I would believe that insults every _fucking_ one of my numerous sensibilities," he added, crossing his arms and waiting.

Draco, naturally, opened his mouth to retort - _stop sulking, Theo, it's fucking unbecoming -_ but stopped, catching the look in Theo's eyes.

"You know," Draco realized, letting out a breath of argument and inhaling, instead, the reassurance of the bond he knew they had. "You know perfectly well why I sent you away." He glanced meaningfully at Theo. "You understand."

Theo shrugged his agreement. "I'm not completely fucking insensitive," he reminded Draco. "I just want to hear you say it."

"Why are you pushing this?" Draco pressed, frowning. "What is it you want me to say?"

Theo paused, considering his answer.

"You're invested," he pointed out, hunching forward. "It's only been a matter of weeks."

"That's not a question," Draco said expectantly, and Theo glanced at him.

"Can you stop pretending not to read the subtext?" he demanded. "Now is not the time to verify your idiocy, Draco - "

"Fine," Draco barked, hoping to startle him, but Theo did not flinch; he waited, unmoving, and Draco sighed.

"The truth is," he began slowly, "Hogwarts wasn't the last time I saw her."

The statement seemed to thud perilously between them. Theo's eyes widened, his jaw clenched as he processed the information.

"What," he said, at the softest possible volume, "the _fuck_."

"It's not like anything happened," Draco rushed out hurriedly. "It was before my mother died, right when they were figuring out how to use the blood wards - "

The muscle beside Theo's jaw tightened in anger. "When you were pinning a - " he broke off, lowering his voice. "When you were pinning a _murder_ on them, you'd already seen her?" he asked roughly. "You didn't think that was worth mentioning?"

"It wasn't really a great experience, okay?" Draco nearly shouted, launching to his feet. "Nothing happened. I just - " he took a deep breath. "I saw her, we - talked for a minute." He swallowed, beginning to pace the floor. "It was nothing."

 _Every time you've entered my life, I've been presented with a turn, and I have faced you with indecision._

"Nothing," Theo echoed tightly. "Does that really strike you as _nothing_?" He stood now, barrelling into Draco and giving him a hard shove. "What did you _do_?"

"Nothing!" Draco yelled, clipping Theo with his elbow as he yanked himself from his grip. "I told you, nothing happened - "

"Not _then_ ," Theo said impatiently, swatting him away. "I mean _now_." He gave Draco a hard, stony glare. "You should have told me you were in deeper than I thought, Draco."

"I'm not _in deep_ at all!" Draco protested. "And what would you have done?"

"Stopped you from whatever is already happening!" Theo shouted back, waving his arms in a manic, swarming circles. "Draco," he said, suddenly coming to an abrupt halt, "I can't be the moral compass here. I fucking can't."

"My morals are not at issue," Draco growled curtly, though the veracity of that statement remained to be seen.

"Like hell they're not," Theo countered with a scowl. "Draco, you can't fucking tell me that - "

"Look," Draco interrupted helplessly, "did you want to hear what she had to say?"

Theo, somewhere between curiosity and a desperate need to continue ranting, allowed himself to pause.

"I've got nothing else," Draco said, raising his hand in surrender. "There's nothing else I can say."

They stared at each other; _please_ , Draco begged. _Please._

"Fine," Theo permitted, settling himself back down and swallowing his retort. "Tell me what she said."

Draco, relieved at the sudden halt in lecture, launched in without hesitation. "Smith was the last person to see Potter," he explained. "The raid that they found Granger in wasn't even really a raid. Smith found them. Cast a Patronus to get them caught."

"Fuck," Theo commented, flinching, and Draco could see his fury had been momentarily suspended by the new information. "I'm hardly a man of morals, but that really doesn't sit well with my code."

"Yeah, well, you said it, didn't you?" Draco reminded him. "Smith's an opportunistic bastard."

"Not that calling something by its name serves to help much," Theo sighed, and then paused, his face taking on its familiar, studious squint as he considered the possibilities. "Potter's got to still be alive, then," he determined slowly, and Draco nodded. "Or at least - "

"At the very least, Smith didn't end up with him," Draco agreed. "And that might explain why he'd been keeping an eye on us."

"Only if he knew about Granger," Theo said, looking uneasy. "What would have led him to us, though?" he pressed, frowning. "You think Gosforth said something?"

"As much as it can only be either Gosforth or my father - or Whiddon, I suppose, though I doubt it," Draco said, and Theo nodded his agreement, "I don't see how Gosforth could have passed that on to Smith. He's not exactly point of communication for Snatchers."

"Yeah, but Rowle is," Theo said. "And he babysits Gosforth."

"True," Draco muttered, and then looked up slowly as a thought dawned on him. "Is it possible that Smith knew it was Granger that Rowle had, and was keeping an eye on her?" he asked. "I doubt he would have told anyone who she was - "

" - because having lost Potter would have made him look bad," Theo finished, nodding his agreement. "Certainly a possibility."

"Seems strange to think he'd be running his own errands, though," Draco remarked thoughtfully. "He made all of his portkeys except the last one, so he was at least partially able to do his actual job."

"Well, clearly we have to find him," Theo determined, rubbing his temples. "Though I'm not certain the memory modification can be reversed."

"I'm not fucking certain of anything," Draco muttered. "But yes, we'll have to try."

"We can't go back to the forest," Theo warned. "Not after last time. It'll have to be someone else."

"Like who?" Draco asked. "Blaise?"

"Eh." Theo shrugged. "Not sure his name is entirely clear, either."

"Someone who'd have an excuse to be seen in Hogsmeade, I suppose," Draco thought, and then looked up, an idea lodging itself firmly in his mind. "Like, perhaps, someone who might be married to a local business owner?"

Draco could tell he was smirking. Theo, by contrast, looked horrified.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Theo said, letting his head droop. "Fucking - _no._ "

"What choice do we have?" Draco countered. "If it can't be us and it can't be Blaise - "

"How do we even know we can trust her?" Theo demanded, raking a hand through his hair and making a face. "We certainly couldn't while we were in _school_ \- "

"We don't have to trust her with _everything_ ," Draco reminded him, though he fully understood the look of skepticism on Theo's face. "She can play on a need-to-know basis."

"Yeah, because she's going to fucking _love_ that," Theo scoffed. "I can see it now," he added, mimicking, " _Theodore, you cocksucking son of a -_ "

"If you're going to get on her case for having a filthy mouth, you may not have a leg to stand on," Draco pointed out, and Theo waved a hand carelessly. "But we need someone, and she's our best bet."

"Maybe," Theo mumbled. "But I don't like it."

"I don't like it either," Draco reminded him, "but this was your idea, wasn't it?"

Theo hesitated. "You know she's still going to be utterly fuming that you didn't marry her," he said grimly. "I can't imagine she's too thrilled with having been forced to be with Mulciber."

"Hey, she's rich," Draco said with a shrug. "Could be worse."

Theo huffed his agreement, and then paused, the spark of their earlier disagreement suddenly returning to his eyes.

"Just tell me," he said, and Draco stiffened in preparation, "is this still about having blood on our hands?" His mouth tightened. "Or is it about Granger?"

Draco swallowed.

Theo shook his head. "Fuck," he muttered, and then sighed. "Fine," he permitted with a grimace. "Let's call on Lady Mulciber."

* * *

Hermione looked at the rubble around her - the devastation that had been Azkaban prison - and felt the same low, pulsing fear that she had when she'd first arrived. The five or so Death Eaters lying on the floor were slumped face-first in a circle, neatly arranged as though they'd been standing that way, mid-leap, before falling. There was a shattered glass jar on the floor, and Luna had been near her father. No dementors, of course; Hermione had used _Priori Incantatem_ on Luna's wand and seen the Patronus that had emptied the place of them.

It was astounding magic, impossible to fathom that a single Patronus might have been sufficient for such a place - or would have been, at least, to anyone who hadn't known Luna Lovegood - but Hermione knew better; the witch had more unfailing positivity in the soles of her shoes alone than anyone Hermione had ever met. _Dementors didn't stand a chance_ , Hermione thought, with a twinge of satisfaction.

It occurred to Hermione, briefly, that the memory of this event might have been how Harry had known not to use the Patronus charm during their time on the run. She never had figured out how he knew about the taboo, but suddenly recalled that this had been perhaps the first time that it was associated with them publicly. The rescue had been in all the newspapers, splashed across the headlines - it was early still in Voldemort's reign, and he didn't own the journalists' quills or their voices yet - and word had traveled.

 _Perhaps,_ the articles had said, _we have not seen the last of the Order of the Phoenix. No one else,_ they'd said; _impossible that it was any other but the Chosen One._

Remarkable how many things had changed, Hermione thought, shifting in her sadness.

Maybe it was wrong of her to have wondered how Harry had known, all those years later when everything was different; maybe she'd just never given him enough credit. There must have come a time when she was too busy thinking she was the one who should plan, that _she_ was responsible for keeping him safe, to recognize that he might have just known something. She bowed her head, missing him - disappointed with herself - and sighed, hoping he'd forgiven her.

She felt Luna's hand clasp her shoulder coolly.

"How did you get here?" Luna asked, her voice soft. She gestured around them, at the place where their feet braced uncertainly against stone.

Hermione cleared her throat. "We apparated to the coast," she said, gesturing. "Then took brooms."

"Ah," Luna acknowledged, her mouth twitching into a saddened smile. "You hate to fly."

 _I do,_ she thought, _I really do -_

"And nobody ever let me forget it, either," Hermione half shouted, suddenly feeling the need to let her voice thrash against the walls of the wizard prison. _All this magic,_ she thought, _all this power, and they were no more evolved than muggles. No less cruel._ "I wasn't _fun_ because I didn't like quidditch, I wasn't _brave_ because I prefer my feet planted on something I can trust, like the _ground_ \- "

She broke off, teeth gritted, and Luna stepped forward, reaching out for her.

"Everyone always hated that I wanted a plan," Hermione managed, feeling a lump in her throat. "I was less brave because I wanted to keep him safe - I was selfish because I wanted him _alive -_ "

"You resented coming after me," Luna postulated, more question than statement. "You resented me for forcing your hand."

"My hand was _always_ forced," Hermione reminded her, shaking her head. "Going after the stone, going after Sirius, going to the Ministry - everything I ever did was just some response to some horrible need, and I wasn't ready for it this time." She looked up, feeling wetness slip down her cheek. "I just wanted us to be together. To be _safe._ "

"That was never Harry's way," Luna reminded her, looking wistful. "It would have destroyed him far more to do nothing."

"You knew that," Hermione realized bitterly. "You must have loved him more than I did. Or in some purer way, at least." She sniffed, wiping at her eyes. "Some kind of love that I don't understand - because all _I_ wanted was to _protect him_ \- "

She broke off, looking at Luna with an apology on her tongue; but the other witch, despite the intimacy of her confession, only smiled.

"You'd have gone," Luna determined, nodding with certainty. "You needed a moment - you wanted a plan - but without the shock of what you had to do, you'd have eventually chosen to go. To do something to help." She reached out, touching Hermione's hand. "I know you would have."

Hermione shook her head. "You don't know that," she said softly, and at Luna's attempted disagreement, she straightened, suddenly adamant. "I'm not as brave as Harry," she insisted, flushing with shame. "He can risk his neck and understand that he's doing something for some greater purpose, but I - " she paused. "I hesitate. I always do."

Luna paused; Hermione hung her head.

"Harry's bravery is a lion," Luna commented after a moment. "He is fierce and unfailing, and he leads."

"And I'm - what, then?" Hermione laughed, tasting the sour lick of misery against her lips. "Something small, probably." She shook her head. "Skittish."

"Your bravery is a lion, too," Luna assured her, "but don't forget what you know of lions." She leaned forward, brushing a hair from Hermione's eyes. "Male lions beautify," she whispered. "They preen. They require loyalty and service. Not you." Her smile flickered, her pale eyes glowed. "Not me."

"Female lions," Hermione ventured slowly. "Different?"

"Female lions hunt," Luna reminded her. "They lie in wait. They don't need the cover of a mane for the world to concede that they are strong."

Hermione waited, turning the thought over in her mind.

"Your bravery is calculated. Your bravery is efficient. And that does not diminish you," Luna murmured.

Hermione, too grateful to speak, looked around, crouching instead to scrutinize the shattered jar. "Foxfire," she said simply, and Luna crouched beside her.

"Catalytic chanterelles," she corrected, a smile spreading across her face.

Hermione sighed. "You knew," she said simply. "You knew Harry would come. Just like you knew what this really was," she added, gesturing to the jar. "What it really did."

Luna, impishly, said nothing.

"Did you always know?" Hermione pressed. "That they weren't real, I mean. Nargles, Snorkacks - "

"Hermione," Luna interrupted daintily, her eyes flashing, "what have I said about reality?"

Hermione knew that a laugh would be a forfeit, and still it crept up in her throat. "Remind me," she suggested, and Luna shrugged.

"It is what you say it is," she said, and rose to her feet, smiling absently into the distance.

* * *

When he came home, she was in her own room again, sitting at the foot of the bed with her arms wrapped around herself.

"Hey," he said, flicking his wand to set the tray of food down. She said nothing; she watched his wand, he noted with a curious lurch of his stomach, rather than the tray; for a moment he felt nervous, as though she might be disappointed with his spellwork.

She glanced up at him.

Draco settled himself beside her and she turned; for a moment, he found himself thinking about her tattoo - the rampant phoenix that glowed against her skin - and saw something like it in her eyes.

 _If Granger were easily broken, she would be already,_ Draco heard himself say. _She needs to trust me._

 _Why would she?_ Lucius had snapped, not unrightfully.

 _We rise,_ Draco thought, _we always rise_ \- and he felt a moment of peace, then, at the idea that she might wish him on her side.

"Why," she asked slowly, "would you want me?"

He inhaled truth - _haven't I always?_ \- and breathed out fear.

"Because you saved me," he whispered. _Because I am indebted to you, and thus, you have known to trust me._ "Because of you, Potter spared me."

A blink of confusion registered in the soft brown of her eyes. "When were you ever at Harry's mercy?"

He realized then that Potter must have kept his promise - _If you leave now, I won't tell her I saw you_ \- and felt a moment's hesitation, but then spoke.

"Three years ago," he explained, "when - "

"Ah," she said, recognizing the date, and then a slow smile came over her face, which evolved into an unhinged laugh, and quickly - rapidly - derailed into a stunning, sobbing laughter, until he pulled her into his arms.

"What is it?" he whispered, wrapping his fingers in the strands of her hair and holding on.

"It's - " she glanced up, tears on her lashes. "What did he say?"

 _Do you really fucking expect me to think you won't kill me given the chance?_

 _After the times I've saved your life? I don't make a habit of wasting my time. Besides,_ Potter had said, _she wouldn't want me to._

She must have read it on his face.

"He didn't mean me," she told him slowly. "He - he probably meant your mother." She glanced down. "Not that I would want him to hurt you, obviously, but he always said he didn't think you'd understood."

Draco said nothing, the pieces of his life that he thought he'd known suddenly shifting, rearranging themselves.

"Harry always said that he hadn't been able to say thank you to her," she explained. "That neither she nor you understood what he'd hoped to say to you."

Draco, nearly too shamed to speak, swallowed hard.

"If it wasn't you," he said, his hope evaporating in a breath, "then why do I want you?" He leaned back, lifting her chin to look her in the eye. "Why do you want me?" he whispered, suddenly afraid.

 _But he found that he himself was nothing, and it made him feeble, and he saw himself a coward -_

"I think I just do," she said back, and he bent his head to kiss her, to breathe her in; to shout his gratitude in the pressure of his lips against hers.

"There's so much we don't know," he murmured when he'd replenished the distance between them, trying to hold the pieces of himself together. "There's so much that we don't understand."

"Time lost," she said ambiguously, tightening her grip on him.

 _Time lost,_ he repeated to himself, and looked down at the way she was tangled against him, the way that maybe they were bigger than what they'd been through. _It's time that loses against us._

Punishment and inevitability. _I trust you, if you'll trust me._

"Who else did you lose?" he asked her, offering her everything in the span of five words. "Who else are you looking for?"

She recognized the sacrifice and he watched her hold her breath, contemplating what she had to give.

"You're sure," she said uncertainly, a line of worry appearing on the flawless canvas of her face. "You realize that - "

"Yes," he said firmly. _Yes, I realize that I might die for this, for you, and that will make all the difference._

She closed her eyes.

"Once," she began, "there was an emperor. A powerful one," she added, " _too_ powerful, and so sick with it, in the end, that it tainted everything he touched."

Draco nodded, his breath suspended tightly in his chest.

"One day, the emperor heard the sound of a nightingale and fell in love with its song, thinking it must have been beautiful for what he had heard of it; and so he went into the forest, seeking it out," she continued. "Being a man given to vanity, the emperor lamented that the bird itself was quite plain, its appearance no match for the delicate beauty of its song; but still, he could not resist its calling, and so he took the nightingale to live with him, to sing for him as his favorite."

"But then somebody brought the emperor a jeweled bird that had been charmed, one whose appearance matched that of its song, and in his delight, the emperor forgot about the nightingale, who slipped out of sight and returned to the forest," she murmured, and then, suddenly, she was pushing him onto his back and she was above him, pressed against him, and he couldn't breathe; tangled in her web of story, captivated by her touch.

"But the emperor, who had never been a wise man, demanded that the charmed bird sing for him until it dissolved, the illusion faded and the charm dispelled," she continued, and then she was slipping her hands under his shirt, her palms pressed against his chest; and then he was lifting his arms and she was pulling it over his head.

He stared at her; he was torn open and bared for her.

"The emperor, on his deathbed, lamented that he could not hear the charmed bird's song one last time," she said, digging her nails into his chest, "and as he spoke, the nightingale appeared before him, returned from the forest. 'You cast me aside,' the bird said, 'but still, I will grant you a song' - and then even Death was moved; _so_ moved," she added, and he could feel a shift in her tone, in the way she subtly twisted the strands of the story, "that he offered the nightingale a wish in exchange for the delight of its melody."

Draco put his hands on her waist and then, daringly - his heart in his mouth - slid them up, circling her ribs; his fingers hovered over her skin like a question and she answered with a twist of her hips, with the way her lips parted.

"The emperor, upon hearing Death's offer, looked pleadingly to the nightingale, that he might be spared for a wish," she said quietly, her voice a strum of promise in the dark, "but the nightingale - who had not forgotten the emperor's abandonment - looked Death in the eye and said 'take him, and let me be free of him,' and Death, an amenable spirit, held the emperor's life in his palm and spirited him away."

She was pressed against him now; a single movement would betray him. _Betrayal,_ he thought, and wondered if later he would regret how easily he was seduced.

"The nightingale," Draco choked out, the words escaping through his teeth, "a traitor?"

Her hands slid down his chest, to his stomach, to his hips.

"Is anyone a traitor who gives a monster his due?" she asked, and in the glow of her eyes, he understood.

 _For as day must always die in the arms of night, he thought, so too must he only exist to perish in the depths of her brightness._

* * *

 **a/n:** A twist on _The Nightingale_ by Hans Christian Anderson. For daswhoiam - it delights me to have used a favorite of yours. Sally, love to you always for bouncy walling. Thanks for reading!


	16. The Voracious Guilt

**a/n:** if part of this chapter feels familiar, it's because this fic has quietly been inspired by a scene from my previously written one shot _Reparations_ , chapter four in _Amortentia._

* * *

 **Chapter 16: The Voracious Guilt**

 _The more time spent in the night girl's presence, the more the day boy began to question whether time itself was any powerful thing; he had thought, as a child, to fear it, but realized that all it did was pass, from night to day, and day to night - a tired thing, and hopeless. Better to be her, he thought, in all her light, or else be what he was when he was with her, cured of his fears in the dark; for they, at least, could stand and fight, and glory in their mortality._

 _For what force was night, and what blessing was day, and what did it matter, when girl and boy were joined? For day or night may pass, and both may become dust; but this, the boy knew, touching a finger to the spark between them, would triumph._

* * *

 _ **2000**_

* * *

At first he would have guessed it to be a nightmare; except in his dreams, her hair was never _this_ disheveled. It seemed his subconscious had cut her some slack, as the level of unruliness before him was nearly unfathomable. He lowered his wand, gaping at her.

"Granger?" he croaked, and she whipped around, training her wand at his chest.

"Malfoy," she gasped, and then shoved something behind her back, a small, beaded bag that he would have bet his fortune contained an illegal expansion charm. "Funny," she remarked, and then grimaced at her choice of words. "Running into you, I mean."

"Funny is one way to put it," Draco agreed hesitantly, "though decidedly not the one I would use." He stared at her, waiting for her to disappear, or for himself to wake, as surely this wasn't - _surely she wasn't_ -

"I see you're still standing," she murmured, and he swallowed, the guilt of his survival thudding wildly through the channels of his chest.

"I see you're not dead," he attempted hoarsely.

She paused at that, considering him from afar. "Oh, I'm dead," she said softly, her lips curling into a smile. "This is a fantasy. I'm not really here."

He smirked at her. "You certainly give yourself a lot of credit, Granger," he remarked loftily, finding comfort in a familiar rhythm. "Sorry, but you're not really one of my fantasies."

Her smile twitched once - as though it might have broadened - and then stilled.

"Ah, well," she said evenly, shrugging. "I tried."

For reasons he could not explain, Draco found himself impressed. The Hermione Granger he had known - the one he had last seen - had not brushed him off so easily. Now the jab slipped carelessly from her shoulders, like a garment she no longer cared for; like water that slid from her hands.

"How are you not dead?" he pressed. "And how did you get in my house?"

She shrugged again. The motion was sharp and quick; dismissive. His glance caught on the slip of her shirt against her clavicle.

"You know, you purebloods overestimate yourselves," she demurred. She played coquettish with a lowered gaze, he noted, but the tip of her wand never wavered from his chest. "Blood wards and all that. But do you know how easy it is to fool a blood ward?"

She held up her wrist, which was gorily cut and smeared. "A little blood from Harry, a little from Ron, a little from Hannah - and oh, you know. Others here and there," she said casually, listing the materials of her grotesque concoction with a carelessness that nearly made Draco's stomach turn. "You're all related, you know," she informed him, her tone impatient, as though to chide him for his careless shortsightedness. "A little clever mixing and _voilà_ \- I'm a Malfoy."

He swallowed.

"Ironic, isn't it?" she asked him, not that he needed her to; the thought had already crossed his mind. "You always mocked me for my blood. And yet if _I_ set a blood ward" - she looked up then, no longer coy, and met his eye - "I'd be perfectly safe."

The look on her face was punishing; she was taunting him a little, ever so slightly, with a tug of her pretty mouth, and despite his twinge of remorse - or, perhaps, because of it - he found he couldn't deny her the moment of mockery.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked her, a little dazed by her response.

"Because you're not going to catch me," she told him. "And if you come any closer, I'll just disapparate."

 _Fair_ , he determined, fighting to anchor his thoughts.

"You're alive," he said again, still unable to process it. "And the others - they're alive? It's true, then, what they're saying?"

 _Perhaps_ , the articles had said after the inexplicable chaos at Azkaban, _we have not seen the last of the Order of the Phoenix_.

 _No one else_ , they'd said; _impossible that it was any other but the Chosen One._

They'd said it, yes, but still, he'd scarcely been able to believe it; it was as though he'd been holding his breath for the span of two years, waiting to see the proof for himself - and now here she was, in the flesh, and it was astounding, the illusion of his world shattering around him as she stood there, _existing_. It was so implausible - so _impossible_ \- that he could scarcely find it in himself to breathe.

"Yes," she replied, her chin raised, the portrait of quiet defiance. "We're alive. Despite your best efforts," she said, with a lick of venom.

 _Gentle fury,_ he decided, and internally gave her her due.

"And the Order," Draco continued. "Does it still exist?"

At that, the regal dignity with which she raged momentarily flickered and waned, a layer of exasperation showing through.

"Of course it exists," she said, her fingers tightening around her wand. "You really thought it would be that easy? That You-Know-Who would just win and we'd all just . . . go away?"

 _Well, yes,_ he thought, and instantly felt shamed for it.

"But you didn't," Draco muttered hazily. "And you're alive."

She seemed to hear the wonder in his voice, and softened. "Interestingly, I'm _still_ alive," she commented warily, her glance flicking to where his wand hand was draped at his side.

He realized he had never even pointed it at her.

Hardly seemed any point in doing so now.

"How did you get caught?" he asked, trying to draw some authority back to his voice. "This isn't exactly careful. My mother felt you in the wards."

"You weren't supposed to be here," she explained. "Everyone was supposed to be out of the house."

"How could you have known that?" he asked suspiciously.

"Well, as a reminder, I didn't," she said, gesturing to him again. "But I suppose it's fair to say that you didn't find it odd that your father received an anonymous tip this morning, then?"

He shook his head slowly, making the connection. "You drew him out to come in and steal our gold," he said, nodding his vaguely mirthful understanding. " _Wow_."

"It's nothing personal," she murmured, ducking her head with an impish grin. "Bit hard, you know," she explained, "trying to survive. What with us being dead and all that."

 _A joke,_ he recognized mechanically, but couldn't quite manage a laugh. She was more confident after time that has passed; fearless. Undaunted. Brassy and gritty, and stunning somehow in her conceit, and he found it had a silencing effect; intimidating, in a way.

"You certainly are different, aren't you?" he asked, clearing his throat.

She met his eye, her lips pursing slightly as she considered him.

"So are you," she told him, her fingers finally loosening around her wand. Her eyes flicked to his wrist; _to his Mark_ , he realized, and he stiffened.

"Not different enough," he admitted softly.

Her eyes widened curiously at that, but she said nothing; instead she let the thought linger in the air a moment before squaring her shoulders, the dignified cool returning to her features.

"So why are you here, anyway?" she asked loudly, her voice cutting through the tension between them. "I'd expected you to go with your father."

He hesitated.

"My mother isn't well," he explained. "I try to stay back with her when I can." He swallowed uncomfortably, and she gave him a sympathetic half smile. "I'm also not exactly a favorite of the Dark Lord," he confessed. "I don't quite have the stomach for . . . what he requires."

She hummed softly, nodding. "I thought as much," she said, biting her lip. She flashed him a quiet smile. "I'm glad I wasn't wrong about you," she added, and the words went straight to the core of his soul.

For a moment they simply stared at each other. He opened his mouth to answer, but stopped when he felt a shift in the wards.

"Someone's here," he asserted, his heart thudding. He looked intently at her for a minute, considering his options.

 _I'm glad I wasn't wrong about you._

"Obliviate me if you need to," he suggested quickly, feeling a stab of something as he spoke; _was it fear,_ he thought, _or longing?_

Her face, which had been toeing as close as he'd ever seen it to bordering on smug, suddenly went pale, and he realized that she was struggling with indecision.

"Do it," he urged, turning over his shoulder. "Someone's coming."

When he glanced back at her, she was ready; however indecisive she was, she was a survivor still, and quick as ever. She didn't waste a moment, lifting her wand and pointing it at his face, and he closed his eyes, steeling himself.

He waited for a spell, imagined a feeling of hazy displacement; instead, he heard the sound of rustling, of hesitant footsteps, and then her voice in his ear.

"You could come," she whispered to him, the scent of something sweet and floral breezing under his nose. "If you wanted."

He held his breath, frozen.

 _She was alive_ , he thought, still suffering the blow of the realization. All this time he thought she'd been dead. He thought they'd _all_ been dead - not that it mattered. Potter and Weasley and the others. Not that they mattered. _She_ was alive.

He had never forgotten her face. He'd lied to her, about the fantasies. He'd thought for a moment that that was precisely what she was.

 _She was alive -_ that changed everything. That meant there was hope, somewhere, a life different from _this_. Someone else could still win. Someone else could still triumph.

 _Not you,_ his mind whispered cruelly, his conscience rearing up with a spiteful laugh. _You don't deserve to win._

"I - " he began, and swallowed. "I don't - I can't - "

Behind them, footsteps grew louder.

"Just do it," he begged her, feeling his hands start to shake. "Just - it's easier if you just - " He broke off, bitterly forcing the plea back down his throat. "Just do it," he repeated, hating himself.

She took a deep breath, and he waited.

"If you change your mind," he heard her say, and he opened one eye to catch the glimmer of rebellion that flashed in her gaze before she took a single step back. "Maybe you'll find me," she murmured, and he swore he saw lightning strike, a spark of something unbending as she bounded away -

And then a soft crack, the loss of her, and she was gone.

* * *

 _ **2005 (Present)**_

* * *

He blinked away the memory, feeling the tension of her breath as her ribs expanded out beneath his fingers.

 _Maybe you'll find me,_ she'd said; _maybe you called me to you,_ he thought, and then a second thought - _am I made for you, then?_

She was pressed against him; a single movement would betray him. _Betrayal_ , he thought again, reliving the moment on a punishing loop of hesitation.

 _Is anyone a traitor who gives a monster his due?_ she'd said, and it was a question.

Many questions.

"I'm the nightingale," he whispered to her. _You cast me aside, but still, I will grant you a song; take him, and let me be free of him._ "I'm the traitor, aren't I? That's what you want me to be?"

The pressure of her hands on his hips was bruising; punishing. "That's your choice," she murmured.

 _I'm your choice,_ she was offering, her fingers skating across the expanse of his chest.

 _If you change your mind -_

 _You'll devour me,_ he thought, ravaged with fear. Fear of emptiness, of a backwards melancholy, the grit and clanging vacancy of her slipping through his hands - _a soft crack, the loss of her -_

He pulled her against him. _Lay me to waste._

She pulsed and shimmered in his arms. _Confine me to rubble._

"There's no going back," he said hoarsely. _Let me amount to nothing but this._ "If we do this - if I - "

"There was never any going back," she said, running her fingers over his lips. "Can you imagine?" she whispered. "The choices we might have made, if we could only retract a step."

 _If you change your mind -_

"Where," he started, and swallowed, "where would you be, a step back?"

"Here," she said. "And sooner." She ran her hand along the smooth lining of his forearm, letting her nails scrape against his Mark. "Much sooner."

He stared at her.

"Me," he echoed in disbelief. "If you could go back - "

She waited, breath suspended.

"If you could go back, you still want me?" he asked, his voice ragged with doubt.

She smiled.

"Inevitability," she murmured, brushing a kiss to the side of his neck. "Isn't that what you said?"

 _Maybe you'll find me._

"I also said punishment," he reminded her, the words escaping through a grimace.

"Punishment," she agreed, "because we can't go back."

 _If you change your mind -_

"But if we could," he pressed, and she lay a finger against his lips.

"There's a reason we can't," she warned. "We'd drive ourselves mad if we were forced to move backwards, reliving the steps we might have taken." She bit her lip, and he wondered if there was something to the statement that he couldn't read. "Every decision," she sighed, tracing the line of his jaw. "The ways they could have gone."

"If I hadn't found you," he insisted desperately, still not satisfied; _the scenarios had to be run,_ he thought, _had to be calculated_. "If it had been Potter instead of you in my vault that day, or Weasley - "

"But it was me," she interrupted, sitting up and bringing his hand to her chest, spreading his fingers out in place of her heart. "Inevitability," she whispered.

He held his breath and she moved his hand to her breast, torturously guiding his motion.

"If we do this," he said, forcing the words despite his hammering need to be _closer,_ to have _more_ , to tear the breath from his lungs and offer it to her. "There's - "

"There's no going back," she said, leaning forward. "Past is passed, Draco," she murmured. "Time lost."

 _It's time that loses against us,_ he thought, and then her voice: _maybe you'll find me,_ and then the truth -

 _Maybe I'm yours._

He gripped her waist with a growl and threw her onto her back, indulging his craving, drowning and desperate. He wondered, briefly, if she had thought about it, about the way he wanted her - and when her back arched to lift her hips to his he thought vacantly that she _must have_ , must have always known how easily they'd fit. How stunningly they'd join.

He slid his hands down her shirt, his fingers meeting hers at the hem as she raised the lip of the fabric, slipping it over her head. He caught a glimpse of her - of the contours he'd imagined, that he'd pressed himself against but never seen - and paused, his paralyzing need knotting itself in his throat and ripping a shattered gasp from his mouth.

"Granger," he choked out, blinking back the memory of the whip of her curls, the flash of her eyes, "Hermione - "

She snaked an arm around his neck and then his bare skin met hers, a whisper of tension between them; _mine,_ it rasped, _mine, mine, mine -_

It wouldn't be sex as he had known it; he could tell that already. It could never be sex as he had perfected it, the mechanization of movements and angles for the purpose of some meticulously predictable result, a motion exchanged for a moan. Sex as he had been taught by experience was distinctly human, disastrously mortal, a manipulation of trial and error and call and response and never, _never_ , had such a thing struck him as beautiful. Carnal, maybe, mindlessly blissful at its best, but he was not a man who had understood beauty until he'd seen it in the curve of her neck, her vulnerability bared for him, her hair spread out around her head like a wreath; like a crown, like a halo. Beauty spilled its secrets in the sound of her voice in his ear, the transcendent breaths of _I've waited_ and _I've wanted_ and _here you are, mine -_

He drew a hand up her thigh -

She dug her fingers into his back -

He devolved into sensations, then, in the opening of herself to him. She could have cut his hair, slit his throat, debased his throne, torn him limb from limb and he'd have smiled amidst the wreckage, reduced to celestial captivity in her arms. He had been a man saddled with doubt and devoid of direction until she gave him purpose, and never had his wrongs been so exquisite, his errors so divine.

"Draco," she whispered in return, her fingers slipping to the band of his trousers -

And then a voice that sounded like his father's suddenly began to laugh at him, the sound of it a sharp, callous stab, hollow with skepticism and rounded out with spite; it began a low cackle and grew to an unbearable, piercing wail. The sound of failure, the emptiness of what he was, filling his mind until he bent his head to her shoulder, gasping, corroding before her.

 _But he found that he himself was nothing, and it made him feeble, and he saw himself a coward -_

"I can't," he gasped, fighting - scratching - _clawing -_ for breath, for the strength to amount to more than what he was.

The sum of his parts; the meagerness of his being.

 _If you change your mind -_

 _I can't,_ he thought, _I'm not enough._

"I'm a man who runs," he confessed, his mouth souring with the bitterness of his flaws.

He bent his head, waiting. He wanted her to be angry, he wanted to burn atop a pyre she'd built of his failings; but she only smiled, a gentle tease of sympathy in her glance.

"You can go, then," she murmured. "But do you really believe you won't come back to me?"

 _Inevitability,_ he thought, _and punishment._

* * *

 _Behind them, footsteps grew louder. She should have been nervous._

 _She was, but not about that._

" _Just do it," he begged her, and she could see his hands as they shook. "Just - it's easier if you just - " He broke off, and she watched, breathless with fascination, as he bent his head, his eyes forced shut. "Just do it," he repeated, and all the pieces of him she'd never realized he'd been - a mother's devoted son, a penitent captive - seemed to pour out in the unsteady cadence of his broken refrain._

 _Just do it, she repeated to herself, biting her lip as she faced him. She took a deep breath, preparing herself, but knew she wasn't going to manage it. She had never been a person easily overtaken by instinct, but a stirring of certainty inside her suggested - in a whisper - that perhaps she should lower her wand._

" _If you change your mind," she breathed, the words helplessly escaping from her lips, "maybe you'll find me."_

 _Her brain shouted at her for that, and even as she ran from him, she kicked herself for being a fool; but still, there was something - something that had told her, had scratched at her and insisted -_

 _She was still running, still out of breath when she apparated back at their camp, her feet hitting the ground with a hollow thud and carrying her to Bill's tent._

" _It worked," she said shortly, tossing the flap aside and striding to where he sat at his desk, poring over something. "It worked, okay? So - "_

" _You're upset," he noted drily, glancing up at her. "Did something happen?"_

" _I'm not upset," she retorted. "I'm just telling you that it worked, so next time you can send someone else. Or go yourself," she said, as though she didn't particularly care._

 _Bill raised a pale, coppery brow. "It was your choice," he reminded her, vaguely impassive. "You chose to start with Malfoy Manor."_

" _I know that," she snapped. "And I went. And it worked." She squared her shoulders. "So, as I said, next time - "_

" _Hermione," he said, stepping out from behind his desk and walking in front of it, propping himself against it as he addressed her. "What happened?"_

 _She bristled, thinking of the flash of grey as Malfoy - Draco, she told herself, trying to be fair to the time that had passed - had opened one eye._

" _Nothing," she said. "I got into the vault and got out. But we can't go back," she warned, trying to think of a good reason. "Narcissa is sick. She was home."_

" _Mm," Bill confirmed ambiguously, watching her closely. "But you didn't speak to anyone?"_

" _What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione asked, glaring at him. "Of course I didn't speak to anyone, I'm not - " she hesitated. "I'm not totally stupid - "_

" _You're not stupid at all," Bill said, considering her. "In fact," he added, uncrossing his arms and leaning casually, "you're pretty fucking brilliant." He glanced at her bloody wrist, gesturing to it. "This was absolutely genius, and I'm surprised you're not more pleased with it."_

" _I am," she protested, slipping her hand protectively behind her back. "I am, it's just - it feels wrong," she lied. "Stealing." She coughed, trying to cover the flush that crept over her cheeks; she'd never been a very good liar. "I'd rather not be the one to do it."_

 _Bill shrugged. "Fine," he agreed. "Ron and Harry weren't thrilled about you going alone, anyway. Nor was I," he ventured carefully._

" _Do you think I can't take care of myself?" she scoffed, more sulkily than she might have hoped. "I told you, I needed to do it first, to make sure - "_

" _It's not that at all," Bill corrected, taking a step towards her. "But we need you," he reminded her, his voice low and urgent; and just as her curiosity stirred - as she wondered if there was intimacy there, or if she'd only imagined it - he had abruptly invaded her space, his lips threatening hers from a breath's distance away._

" _And also, you're lying," he murmured, and she shook her head frantically._

" _No - no," she insisted, taking a step back, suddenly feeling a jarring disconnect with the memory. "This isn't how this happened - you - you said - "_

" _I said we needed you," he prompted, closing the distance between them again. "And then I looked at you - really looked - and saw something I'd never seen before." He tucked a curl behind her ear, and his blue eyes flashed, like the crash of a current. "And then, because every fiber of my being fought it, I sat down at my desk, and you walked away."_

" _Yes," she whispered, glancing over her shoulder at where she would have walked off by now, would have shaken herself free of what she thought she'd imagined with Bill, but what she would later learn was precisely what she - with a leap in her chest - had suspected. "Yes, I walked away - "_

" _Well, that's not quite fair to me, though is it?" he asked, tilting her head back to brush his lips against her neck. "Why must I relive it that way, simply because I'm a slave to your subconscious?"_

" _My subconscious?" she echoed hazily, closing her eyes. "So is this a dream, then?"_

" _Does it matter?" he muttered, nudging her chin up to press a kiss to her throat._

" _Yes," she said, thinking of Draco - of two Dracos; the one she had just left, and the one who remained. Her past, she realized, and her present._

 _And future, her mind whispered._

 _Inevitability, it sang._

" _Yes," she said, turning her head. "Yes, it matters that this is a dream."_

" _Then perhaps," Bill said, pulling her towards him to take her chin gruffly in his hand, "you should wake."_

Her eyes snapped open and she fought to catch her breath, struggling to take in air. Behind her, Draco stirred, his arms still tight around her.

There was a small cough to her left and she looked up, catching sight of Bill. He was sitting at the edge of the bed, his eyes passing distressfully over Draco's sleeping form before settling thoughtfully on her face.

"Why didn't you tell us what happened at Malfoy Manor?" Bill asked, seamlessly removed from her dream. His eyes fixed themselves on where her back was pressed to Draco's chest, the line of Draco's arm carved tight around her. "And why didn't you tell us why you'd really chosen it to begin with?"

She shifted slightly, glancing back at Draco; he didn't stir.

"I didn't tell you," she murmured softly, "because I knew you wouldn't understand. You would have thought I should have obliviated him, or - " she swallowed. "Or worse."

"You should have," Bill remarked evenly, unfazed. "After all, what would you have done if he'd told someone? Reported you?"

"He didn't," she said softly. "I knew he wouldn't."

"You trusted him," Bill deduced, his tone half-mocking. "You trusted Zacharias Smith, too," he added, and for an instant she hated him.

"Don't," she warned, and he, frustratingly, only smiled.

"I'm not here to upset you," he said. "I want what I always want."

"Control?" she asked, fighting a scoff.

He grimaced. "Harsh, Hermione."

She looked down, a tacit apology. "Why are you here?" she asked. "I'd have thought you'd be happy." She gestured over her shoulder to Draco behind her. "Didn't you say that you taught me how to take?"

"You think this is _taking_?" Bill asked skeptically, emitting a harsh laugh before shaking his head. "How delusional of you."

" _You_ were the one who said to take what I needed," she reminded him. "You wanted me to use him, didn't you? To make myself useful to him, so I would survive?"

"So you have his interest, then," Bill permitted. "So you'll buy yourself time. But to do what with, Hermione? To wait for him while he hunts down Harry?"

 _He's not hunting,_ she wanted to say, but couldn't - it didn't feel wholly true.

For a moment, Bill permitted her her silence, offering nothing; then he shifted, glancing at the nightstand.

"His wand is there," Bill commented, gesturing.

"And?" Hermione asked, her mouth going dry.

Bill shrugged. "You could take it," he suggested.

She felt the blood drain from her face.

"That's stupid," she managed, and saw Bill's eyes flicker, catching something in her averted gaze. "I wouldn't last a day."

"Perhaps not," Bill agreed, "but the important thing isn't that you won't do it. It's _why_ you won't do it."

 _If you lose, I lose,_ she heard Draco say.

Her voice; _Are we that connected?_

She looked down, at the way he fitted himself around her. _Perhaps we are._

For a moment - at the thought - she was gripped with something; terror, she realized, an icy plunge of it, a crash around her. Then, slowly, it dawned on her; a yawning realization.

 _Bill is your cynicism,_ Harry had said. _Bill is the voice of warning that keeps you safe._

"Am I afraid?" she asked, locking eyes with Bill. "Are you here because I'm afraid of him?"

"You should be, if you're smart," he said, the lines of his face seeming to harden. "He said himself that he's a man who runs. He warned you, Hermione, that he's only ever faced you with indecision - "

"And he still can't decide," she murmured. "Is it that, then? Is that what you're protecting me from?" She swallowed. "His indecision?"

"Indecision now," he warned pointedly, "betrayal tomorrow."

 _Betrayal._ Had she already already betrayed herself with the way she wanted him?

Is that why she'd asked it of him?

 _The nightingale,_ he'd choked out, _a traitor?_

She'd changed the story. The nightingale saves the Emperor, she knew, but she'd never liked that ending.

 _Am I the traitor?_

"Is it him I'm afraid of," she whispered, "or me?"

Bill seemed to wither, looking saddened. "Why did you choose Malfoy Manor, Hermione?" he asked quietly. "Why did you go there first?"

"I know what you're thinking," she said guiltily, "but it wasn't for him. It wasn't about him. I wanted - "

She hesitated; Bill waited.

"I wanted to go back," she said. "After Luna, after Azkaban, after Harry rising from the dead - I wanted to go back there," she whispered. "I wanted to rise, too."

"It was like it had been calling me," she realized, remembering the sleeplessness, the images in her mind that had prompted her to stand and say _I'll go, Harry -_

 _Hermione, you can't be serious, you can't go alone -_

 _I need to,_ she'd said, _just trust me_ ; and then -

"And then I saw him," she breathed, "and there was something - "

 _A boy,_ she thought, _a boy so steeped in sun -_

She looked up, her breath caught, and Bill was gone.

 _If you change your mind,_ she remembered, the words helplessly dripping from her lips, _maybe you'll find me._

 _Unlikely,_ she'd known then; _impossible,_ her better judgment had informed her, sternly furrowing its brow.

And yet -

 _Mine,_ she thought, skating her gaze over the contours of his forearm, _even when you run._

This time, when she shuddered, she knew for certain it was fear.

* * *

Hard as it had been to leave Granger behind - harder than ever, and the ache more terrible than before - things had to be done.

"Moral crisis?" Theo greeted him cheerily, rising to his feet.

"Fuck you," Draco returned imperiously, and they stepped through the Floo, briskly accosted by a house elf the moment they arrived.

"You is here to see Lord Mulciber?" the elf squeaked distrustfully, tilting his head to glance at them.

"No, actually," Draco replied, dusting some stray Floo powder from his robes. "Is the lady of the house about?"

"You is looking for Mistress?" the elf repeated, faintly astounded. "Mistress is not enjoying company."

"So true," Theo muttered under his breath, but at Draco's warning glance, he sighed. "Tell her it's Draco Malfoy and Theo Nott," he supplied curtly, gesturing between them. "She'll see us."

The elf grimaced skeptically. "If you is saying so," he mumbled, flashing them both a look that indicated he very much doubted it before disapparating with a crack.

"Even the elf thinks this is a bad idea," Theo said, gesturing to where he'd been. "You sure you don't want to just turn around? Go home? Get pissed and call it the old Outstanding try?"

Draco grimaced. _I'm a man who runs,_ he reminded himself, and resolved, for what it was worth, to stand.

"No," he murmured. "Look, it's only - "

He cut himself off, hearing a soft murmur of conversation from upstairs before a familiar voice carried back to them, floating through the manor house's elaborately high ceilings.

"What do you _mean_ there are people here?" they heard her bark. "Paul, for the actual sake of fuck - "

 _Paul?_ Theo mouthed to Draco, who shrugged.

"Paul knows Mistress is not liking to entertain guests," the elf said anxiously. "If Mistress is wanting thems out of the house, Paul is telling thems immediately, Mistress - Paul is removing thems by force - "

"Well, I suppose we shouldn't be so hasty," she grumbled. "Who is it?"

"Misters Draco Malfoy and Theo Nott, Mistress - "

" _No_ ," she scoffed. "Draco and Theo, you're sure?"

"So says them, Mistress," Paul told her primly. "One of thems is having dark hair, the other very pale white - "

"Blond, you mean?" She paused, and presumably the elf nodded. "Sort of smarmily handsome?"

"If Mistress thinks so," Paul said, in a strangely wry tone for an elf. "Paul is thinking more smarmy than handsome."

"Well, you do have terribly high standards," she permitted thoughtfully. "And the other one's a bit of a lanky, weedy twat, then?"

"Weedy," Paul agreed, leaving an affected pause.

"Fuck, I suppose it is them," she remarked in return. "Well," she sighed, "fine. Get us something to drink, would you? I'll meet them in the sitting room."

"Mistress' good stuff?" Paul asked.

"No, that's _mine_ ," she sniffed. "Get the bottle Caleb brought last week. Darian won't mind."

"But if Master - "

"Off you go," she instructed stiffly, and then with a pop, she appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed over her chest.

"Lady Mulciber," Draco said, offering her a shallow bow. "In the flesh."

"Now, now, Draco, you know I love to hear you say my name," she murmured, a smirk traipsing across her lips. "Don't tell me you've forgotten."

"Gross," Theo muttered, feigning a gag.

"Fine," Draco permitted indifferently, ignoring him. He knew her games. "Pansy, then."

" _There_ it is," she said approvingly, glancing between them before nodding. "Draco," she offered, her lips curling up as her dark eyes traveled vacantly to Theo. "And if it isn't Theodore Nott, you - "

" - cocksucking son of a bitch," he supplied knowingly, rolling his eyes. "I know."

"Well," she purred, smirking, "I was going to go with 'you gawky thundercunt,' but only because it's been so long." She took a calculated step towards them, seating herself in a broad, elaborately upholstered chair as she gestured obligingly to the opposite sofa. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Can't we simply call on an old friend?" Theo asked, maneuvering himself to take a seat.

"Could you, hypothetically? Yes," Pansy permitted, wrapping a dark curl around her finger as she watched them sit. "Have you, in the last seven years?"

She looked expectantly at them. Draco cleared his throat.

"Point taken," he said, inclining his head in forfeit. "How's married life?"

Her gaze traveled sharply to a portrait on the wall; it was something of a family portrait, Draco registered, though it was a bit difficult to call it that. Pansy and Mulciber shared a distinct, wary darkness and their portrait iterations were deliberately not touching; though, Draco noted, they did not appear overtly opposed to the other's presence. Portrait Mulciber was vacantly adjusting his robes while portrait Pansy, like the real Pansy, had her arms crossed, watching them dubiously from across the room.

"It's not horrible," she admitted after a moment, nodding to Mulciber's portrait, and the portrait Mulciber nodded back, solemnly raising a glass before returning his attention to his attire. "I think my husband used to fuck my mom, so, you know" - she leaned back, holding a hand out, and then her elf appeared, placing a narrow glass in her waiting palm - "it's fine." She took a sip before gesturing. "Feel free to have libations," she offered, and turned to her elf. "Paul?"

"Yes, Mistress," he said, and with a quick snap of his long, bony fingers, two glasses of elf-wine floated over to Draco and Theo respectively. They plucked them out of the air and the elf gave a single nod in their direction, checking Pansy's face for approval before disapparating quickly.

"You're a doll," she called after him lazily, slipping lower in her chair.

"Did you say his name was _Paul_?" Theo asked, sniffing the wine suspiciously before taking a sip. "Like, is that short for Pollop, or - "

"Just Paul," Pansy said, shrugging.

"Okay, fine, but - "

Draco nudged him. "The elf's name is Paul," he asserted firmly, not wanting Theo to distractedly fixate on nomenclature, "and as you were saying - "

"Ah, yes, my marriage," Pansy recalled, pairing the statement with a dramatically whimsical sigh. "Darian's not around much," she explained. "Which suits me."

"No kids," Theo noted placidly, and Pansy's smirk broadened to accommodate a harsh, unsettling laugh.

"Well, Theodore, you _do_ know how babies are made, don't you?" she asked. "Let's just say I'm not Darian's type." She took another sip of her drink, and Draco and Theo glanced at each other, recalling the tone of voice with which she'd requested the bottle of wine from _Caleb._ "It works out conveniently, though," she said, twisting in the chair to prop her legs up on the arm. "I leave him alone, and he leaves me alone. He's still a bit addled from Azkaban, anyway," she added, "so it's just easier for me to run his businesses for him."

"Gifts from the Dark Lord?" Draco guessed, and she nodded.

"He gave Darian nearly all of Hogsmeade," Pansy confirmed. "Helps him keep an eye on things, you know, if it all belongs to him in some nepotistic way. I spend most of my time filing reports," she explained, twitching her shoulder as though to shove aside a flicker of irritation. "He likes constant surveillance."

"Lovely," Theo muttered. "And the work suits you?"

"I have a talent for bending people's wills," she agreed. "Ask Draco," she added, her white teeth cutting against her painted lip as she grinned.

Draco stared uncomfortably at the ceiling, and Theo made a face. "I'd rather not."

She smiled, taking another sip of her drink. "In any case, I'm fine," she said, shrugging. "Darian's a considerate enough human being, I suppose. I get him. He gets me." She looked up, locking eyes with the portrait of her husband, who gave her another nod of recognition. "Other people have it much worse."

Draco swallowed, watching Pansy's eyes drift soberly to the floor; by the look on her face, he guessed she meant someone specific.

"Anyway," she said, abruptly straightening in her chair, "you clearly came here for something, so you might as well ask." She took another sip, waiting expectantly. "Unless my excellent people skills have failed me - "

"How dare you," Theo drawled lazily, "as if we're not - "

"We're _not_ ," Draco interrupted, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "You're right, Pans," he said, and her eyes glittered knowingly, "we do need something."

Pansy glanced sharply at Theo, who shrugged. "Don't look at me," he said. " _I'm_ just here for a friendly visit."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine," she said. "Ask, then," she beckoned, shifting her focus to Draco.

"Your funeral," Theo muttered under his breath, and Draco sighed.

"Look," he began, "we need help finding someone who was last seen in the Forbidden Forest."

"Okay," Pansy said slowly, arching a single dark brow. "That's it? I can put up signs in the Hog's Head if you want," she offered. "And the Three Broomsticks."

"You own them both?" Draco asked, and she flashed him a haughty smirk.

"I own it all," she reminded him, batting her lashes.

"Well, there are _some_ additional minor details," Theo proposed. "Such as, you can't tell anyone we're looking, and also, you'll need to find him on foot."

Draco braced himself as Pansy glanced between them, her dark eyed widening in surprise before immediately narrowing in suspicion.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Pansy growled, crossing her arms over her chest. "What have you two done?"

"Why does everyone assume we've _done_ something?" Theo demanded. "Why can't we just be casually looking for someone who's been obliviated without it being something we've _done_?"

"To clarify, we did do it," Draco sighed. "And now we need to undo it."

Pansy stared at them.

"Paul," she bellowed, and then the house elf appeared with a pop. "Firewhiskey, Paul," she demanded. "Lots of it."

"Yes, Mistress," Paul replied, flashing Theo and Draco a venomous look of disapproval before disappearing.

"Who is it," she said slowly, "and what, and why."

"Well, first," Draco said, "how do we know we can trust you?"

At that, Pansy's grip on her wine slackened, the near-empty glass falling from her hand and dropping into Paul's clumsily balanced grasp as he abruptly reappeared at her side.

"Mistress," he said, nudging a whiskey glass from his arms to his foot and offering it to her, flamingo-like, with a strangely dignified grace, "firewhiskey?"

"Thanks, Paul," she said, not taking her eyes from Draco's as she accepted the glass; the elf tipped the bottle against it, hands still crowded with assorted glassware. Upon serving, Paul grunted, forcing himself upright, and moved to float the remaining whiskeys to Draco and Theo before Pansy made a small noise of disapproval.

"Not them, Paul," she said stiffly. "They don't deserve it."

"But I was just here for a friendly visit," Theo sighed mournfully, garnering himself a glare from both Pansy and Paul.

"So you don't trust me, then?" Pansy remarked, rising to her feet; Paul glanced up and went pale at her expression, hastily disappearing. "You thought you'd just ask me for a blind favor, and I'd agree?"

Beside him, Theo tensed; but again, Draco knew better. This was Pansy Parkinson, he knew, whether her name and wealth had changed; she only responded to feats of strength, and everything - _everything_ \- was a game.

"I don't know, Pans," he said, meeting her eye. "Will you?"

She considered him. He didn't blink.

"Tell me more," she beckoned in agreement, "and I'll stop you if it gets boring."

Theo leaned in. "Whatever weird dominance ritual this is you're playing at, it is making me distinctly uncomfortable," he muttered, and Draco shook him off.

"We're looking for Zacharias Smith," Draco said, and Pansy made a face. "I know," he agreed. "Exactly."

"Hate him," she remarked darkly. "He's in Hogsmeade fairly often." She paused, and her eyes widened. "Except lately."

"Fucking _precisely_ ," Theo said, "because he's missing."

"And you need him," Pansy hummed. "But you - obliviated him?"

"Yes," Draco said, but did not elaborate. She smiled.

"Challenging," she remarked appreciatively, eyeing them. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"What fun would that be?" Draco said, raising his wine to his lips, and Pansy snapped her fingers.

"Yes, Mistress?" Paul sang tentatively, appearing at her side.

"Take Draco's wine away, Paul," she said, and Paul snapped his fingers, leaving Draco's hand empty before disapparating.

"Unnecessarily brutish," Draco judged, pursing his lips, and she smiled.

"So," she continued, "Smith's missing, and doesn't know who he is, but _might_ be in the Forbidden Forest."

"Right," Draco confirmed.

"Why can't you find him yourself?" Pansy asked, and then tilted her head, looking unsettlingly informed. "Ah," she said. "You two fucked something up, didn't you? Missed a portkey?"

"Got it on the first try," Theo remarked, and as Pansy glanced at him, he drew his wine glass protectively into his chest. "What? It's a compliment."

She rolled her eyes.

"So how much time do I have to do this?" she asked. "If I agree, that is."

Draco shook his head at that, displeased, and she smiled again. _Always a game_ , he thought.

"Well," he said, "ideally soon. I've got to go to France, so you should probably - "

"France?" Pansy asked, beginning to slowly pace the sitting room floor as she listened. "For what?"

He smirked at her. "Give me my wine back," he suggested, and she sighed.

"Touché," she muttered, and then a shout of "Paul," prompting the wine to reappear in Draco's hand.

"Cheers, Paul," Draco called up through the house, stifling a laugh as he took a sip, and Pansy faced him, waiting. "I'm looking into finding someone from the war," he explained. "Someone that Smith was looking for, too, as it turns out."

"Let me guess," Pansy said, falling back into the chair. "Potter?"

"No," Draco said, and stopped.

She frowned; he said nothing.

"Well, then I should go to the Forest while you're in France," she decided.

"With me not there?" Draco scoffed. "No fucking way."

She scowled at him.

"Don't you know how this works?" she demanded impatiently. "You need an _alibi._ Being in France is helpful for you," she added. "Just in case."

"Since when have you gotten discreet?" Theo asked, raising one brow.

"Since I had a reason to sneak around," Pansy replied snottily.

"Oh?" Draco prompted, and she smirked.

"Going to tell me what this is all about?" she asked, and at his silence, she tsked pointedly. "There you go, then," she permitted. "You keep your secrets, and I'll keep mine."

"You'll do it, though?" Draco asked, leaning forward. "You'll look for Smith?"

"I've never had any trouble attracting dickheads before, so I don't see why this won't be easy," she said with a shrug. "Besides," she added, as though something had just occurred to her, "this is clearly some kind of non-Death Eater skullduggery, so I have to admit to some curiosity, however unwilling it may be."

Theo and Draco exchanged worried glances. "But you aren't going to - "

"I won't tell Darian, no," she said, making a face. "What fun would that be?"

She waved at his portrait, and the painted Mulciber offered a stiffly muted smile.

Draco frowned. "But what about - "

"Oh, he's fine," she said, gesturing to the portrait. "He's sworn to the house. Can't say a word if I don't want him to. Isn't that right, Darian?"

Portrait Mulciber nodded grimly, and beside him, portrait Pansy looked smug.

"Besides, the real Darian would never think to ask," Pansy said. "He has secrets of his own, and permits me my occasional misbehavior."

She lifted her glass to her lips, draining it, and smiled. "You two aren't plotting rebellion, are you?"

"That's a hard no," Theo said, shaking his head. "A _fuck_ no, even."

"Oh, boo," Pansy said, pouting. "That might have livened the place up."

"What, _this_ place?" Theo asked, gesturing around them at the room's vibrant textiles.

"No," she sniffed. "The world in general."

"How patrician of you," Draco remarked, and she laughed; a rich, girlish laugh that Draco hadn't heard in years.

"You know, you forget, Draco Malfoy, how well I know you," she remarked offhandedly, eyeing him closely. "I've seen you selfish and I've seen you cold," she mused. "I know your worst, I know your best, I know you victorious and I know you defeated - "

She paused, looking pensive. "Defeated," she murmured, bringing a hand to her mouth and tracing the curve of her lip. "This isn't it," she decided, nodding at him. "This is something different." She straightened in her chair. "Something else entirely, I'd wager."

Theo glanced at Draco; quiet agreement.

"You know, this world isn't at all what we were promised," Pansy commented tangentially, her mood souring, and the lines around her mouth tightened.

Theo bent his head; Draco said nothing.

"Well," Pansy trumpeted suddenly, "you should probably go. Never know who's tracking the Floo," she added. "Wouldn't want to cause any suspicion, I'd imagine - at least not pre-hijinks."

"Sure," Draco said, standing, and then Theo came to his feet, nodding at her.

"Good to see you, Pans," he said, and in the surprisingly guileless glance they shared, Draco suspected the sentiment was genuine. "Hear from you soon?"

"I've agreed to it, haven't I?" she said, and Theo smirked, moving towards the fireplace as Draco stepped towards her, saying goodbye.

"It really is good to see you," Draco told her softly, but she wasn't listening; as he leaned in to kiss her cheek, she gripped his arm, looking up to meet his gaze.

"I spent half my life in love with you," she told him, and he opened his mouth to say something - to joke - but she cut him off with a glare. "I was there, Draco, when you took the Mark, I was there during the war - "

"I haven't forgotten," he said, confused, and she shook her head.

"This is different," she whispered, suddenly urgent. "Have your secrets, if you want them, and I'll keep mine - but if there is even a sliver of you that wants to fight for something, then Draco, I need you to _take it._ "

He stared at her, and the longer he looked, the more she became the girl he remembered, who fretted about her nose and whispered in the dark about her fears.

"Should I be worried about you, Pans?" Draco asked delicately.

"Me?" she said, snapping out of her vacant reverie and giving him a wry half-smile. "No. Never."

* * *

She had been vacantly looking out the window - which was shuttered still, and heavily draped - when he came up behind her, burying his chin in the crook of her neck.

"I have to go somewhere," he murmured. "Tomorrow," he clarified. "France."

"Forêt de Tronçais," she replied, remembering his map, and he nodded.

"How long?" she asked.

"Not long," he replied. "A day, if I can help it." He hesitated. "But I'm going to have Theo come here," he said, "to stay with you, just in case."

"Oh," she said, and his arms surrounded her.

"Is that alright?" he asked, and she turned, meeting his eye.

 _No,_ she thought, feeling the shudder of fear, _it's not._

* * *

He waited for her to speak.

"I'm glad for this," she commented slowly.

"For me leaving?" he joked, and she smiled, but there was sadness there.

"No, for _this_ ," she explained, placing a hand on his chest.

He swallowed; _I don't understand._

She nodded, her eyes shining.

"Every person who's ever entered my life came and went unexpectedly," she explained, raising her fingers tentatively to run them, reverently, over his lips. "There was never time for goodbye, no moment to tell them - "

She hesitated, and he caught her hand, gripping it. "Tell them what?"

She bent her head, and he wondered if in some way she was praying. "Come back to me safe," she whispered. "Come back to me whole."

She began where he extinguished. _Are we that connected?_

Like pieces made to fit. _Aren't we?_

"I'm fucking making my way back to you," he swore, pressing her palm against his chest, forcing her to bear witness to the fealty of his pulse. "Inevitability, Granger - "

She shut her eyes. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

His heart pounded; _Be the man who stays,_ he begged himself, _no more retreat._

 _If there is even a sliver of you that wants to fight for something, then Draco, I need you to take it -_

It was this, wasn't it? What Pansy could see, and Theo could see. It was her in him, the way she shone through him, and they could all see it.

 _If you change your mind -_

The doubt that clanged fell silent; certainty rang overhead.

 _\- maybe you'll find me._

"I'm not finished with you," he said, a hoarse growl, a wretched confession, and she looked up, something glinting in her eye. "I'll _never_ be finished with you - make me a traitor, I don't care - "

 _Let me amount to nothing but this -_

She shoved him back against the wall, her mouth finding his in a desperate, haunted lunge and he returned her kiss with bruising force, the tattered edges of his soul relenting to bury themselves in her breath, in the ache of her grip. There was a fierceness there, and he waited for a gasp of fear, for a warning pang of remorse but it never came and there was only her, only her, _only her_ -

He picked her up and threw her back on the bed, his mind racing through the motions of discarded garments until it was him and it was her, the gulf of trials swept away in a frantic collision that was more silk than skin, more petal and feather than muscle and bone.

It would be wrong to say it was sweet; he savored it. Longing had been sweet in its way, and the wanting had been sugar-spun and delicate, but to have her was satiating and he was nourished by it, by _her_ , by the way her forgiveness filled him, by the way she enveloped him with the breathtaking splendor of what she was.

He fell against the bed with her, the phoenix on her shoulder blazing in the dark, wings outstretched, and wondered if he might ever again think himself whole without her. He slid down the expanse of her stomach, licking the wetness between her thighs, and she moaned and he came apart, feeling himself shatter as she came undone around him.

It only grew, it only festered; and then he was inside her - _pieces made to fit -_ and she was gasping, her lip between her teeth, and he murmured in her ear - _I've waited_ and _I've wanted_ and _here you are, mine -_

With her arms pressed above her head and her breath on his neck, they fell apart together; they splintered and interlaced, and whatever he had been before, it was nothing now, nothing like what they were.

Time lulled between them, coasting to a blissful stop; time was lazy and swollen and petulant, part spoiled child, part indulgent god, luxuriating in their peace.

"Once," she said, when they'd caught their breaths, "there was a couple who longed for a daughter."

He pulled her against him; she slid her leg between his.

"They had a dozen sons," she said, "but the day finally came that the woman bore a girl child, and so the father sent the sons out to fetch a gift in her honor, for he was sure the girl was a gift of the fae."

Draco nodded, kissing her fingers. "And then?"

"Fae lands are not like human realms, and the sons grew weary and lost the further into the woods they were lured," she murmured, "and over time, each one collapsed, and where each son fell, they were transformed into ravens. 'This is the gift we desire,' the greedy fae cackled, 'to possess your twelve fine sons,' and so the man and the woman, saddened, but resilient, raised their daughter as an only child, not revealing to her what her birth had cost."

"But the daughter grew older, and as children do, less blind to her surroundings; and so she overheard a story, that she had once been the youngest, and that a dozen before her had been transformed into birds."

She paused, saddened, and while he'd been fixated on her lips - on the gratifying jut of her hip against his - he drew his attention back to the story.

"The girl mourned the losses her birth had caused," she said softly, and the piece of him that was tied to her withered starkly in her pain, "and was so consumed in her guilt that she took it upon herself to find her brothers, resolving to return to the woods of the fae. And so she ventured out to find them, armed only with her intentions, in the hopes that purity might be armor enough; but along the way, she, like her twelve brothers, was lured."

 _Twelve,_ he thought, and counted; _every person who's ever entered my life,_ she said, _came and went unexpectedly -_

She took a deep breath to continue, and in a moment of clarity, he stopped her, rolling her onto her back and settling himself above her.

"You feel guilty," he realized, and her eyes widened. "You think you're the girl in the story, but you're not."

She said nothing.

"If you think you owe them your life," he said, uncertain, "or that you're responsible for having to suffer like they suffered - "

"Aren't I?" she asked, and there was fear there; he could see it.

"The girl found her brothers one by one," he narrated briskly, "the - " he paused. "What birds were they?"

"Ravens," she whispered, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

"The ravens," he agreed. "The girl was guided through the forest by one of the fae, one who knew the way of the land, and he took her to her brothers, helping her to evade the traps."

"And then?" she asked, and he was aware of himself against her, the way his soul might have been satisfied, but his body certainly was not -

"And then?" she said again, nudging him, and he carefully guided her legs apart, settling himself against her.

"And then," he said, and they both inhaled sharply as he filled her, "she found her raven brothers, and - " he groaned as she arched her back, thrusting her hips against his, "and then she - fuck, she - "

"Found them," she whimpered, "and won - "

"Won," he agreed, thrusting deeper, "she won - "

" _They_ won," she gasped, and she threw her head back as he kissed her neck, tangling his fingers in her hair.

 _For what force was night, and what blessing was day, and what did it matter, when girl and boy were joined? For day or night may pass, and both may become dust; but this, the boy knew, touching a finger to the spark between them, would triumph._

* * *

 **a/n:** Dedicated to drsallysparrow, who finished her beautiful Gin'n'Tonic perfection, _How Do You Solve a Problem Like Ginevra?_ which you should know by now that I recommend. Read it, please. It will enrich your life, and mine by proximity.

Story inspired by _The Seven Ravens_ by the Brothers Grimm (but it, like the last few, has been heavily altered). There were a couple of nods to _Youth_ in this chapter. Did you catch them?

Lastly, regarding the format of this fic: Chapter 17 will end P _art I: Nightmares_ , and Chapter 18 will begin _Part II: Nocturnes_. Yes, this is a very long fic, and I very much hope you are still enjoying!


	17. The Day Boy

**Chapter 17: The Day Boy**

Hermione woke slowly, the gradual warmth of the room filling her lungs as she registered the restful stillness in the air that meant _Draco,_ the glow of him that spilled light into her eyes and enveloped her.

"I don't want to leave," he murmured, running his fingers up her arm; the path of his touch led past her shoulder to the slope of her neck, the curve of her cheek, and then swept rapturously across her lips, her mouth parting as she caught her breath.

 _Today -_

"Do you have to?" she whispered, turning to face him, and he closed his eyes, the pale lashes floating above the thread of his cheek, his hand pausing reverently against the line of her jaw.

"Yes," he said simply, and then his eyes fluttered open, the grey sharpness melting from steel and catching the light as he looked at her. "And I'm coming back to you, and then - "

His breath caught as she turned her head, pressing her lips to the lining of his wrist and scraping her teeth against the skull and the snake that stood between them.

"And then," he continued, watching with fascination, "we'll find your ravens."

 _Together -_

She shifted herself against him, finding comfort in the pressure of his chest against hers, in the thud of his heart that served to anchor the skidding rush of her pulse. His breath slid across her cheek and she lifted her chin, suffering a fleeting bout of wonderment at the receptive growl that left his lips - at the knowledge that _she had done it_ ; that what he hungered for - _what made him weak, and what made him wild -_ was _her._

Had she been standing, her knees would have buckled; it was immense, the power of being captive in his gaze, of being swallowed by his need, of being trapped by her own wish to be closer, closer, _closer -_

She gasped as he kissed her, the taste of him still foreign; still dynamic and changeable despite having had it, despite having had _him_. She ran her hand along the line of potency in his spine; felt him, like a surge under her fingers, and tried not to bend in worship; fought not to bow in veneration, that he would not become the holy ground beneath her feet - _a reluctant hero,_ she told herself, eyes closed, _a man who runs -_

A whisper. _A boy, so steeped in sun -_

"Hermione," he whispered into her mouth, supplication and homage, and what he offered in reverence she thrust back at him in compulsion, helplessly leaning into the way his voice shattered through her bones, reflex and instinct and intuition and -

 _Inevitability._

She shuddered and braced herself against him, balancing her vacancy against the edges of where he ended. A single movement, a shaky breath, could tip her; _to where_ , she thought, _to what_ , and her mind whispered again -

 _Inevitability._

"What is it you need?" she murmured, and he, his gaze cloudy and unfocused, blinked confusion away as she forced a punishing space between their hips. "What are you looking for?"

He swallowed, straining to reach reality. "In France?"

She nodded. _Truth,_ she asked, and waited.

"Complicated," he muttered, his gaze dropping to the line of her collarbone as he slid his tongue across his lip, his voice cracked and hoarse. "I don't know, precisely."

She lifted a hand like she would catch his meaning from his lips, then let the words slip through her fingers as she sighed. "Then why?"

"Smith went there once," he said, closing his eyes. "Right before I found you."

 _Maybe you'll find me,_ she thought; _maybe I'm yours,_ he promised, and perhaps they were made fools twice over now, by both history and consequence.

"I don't know why," he explained. "Initially I wanted to go because I thought there might have been someone there - something I needed to - "

Color rose against the backdrop of his face; _doubt_ , she registered, and gathered it in the tips of her fingers.

At her hand on his cheek, he calmed. "I needed an answer to a question," he explained slowly. "About a … _foretelling,_ as incredibly inane as that sounds."

"Foretelling," she echoed, the word a nudge to her subconscious. "Of?"

"In the forest," Draco supplied, backtracking, "when Smith - " he gestured to his side, to the scar there, and she brushed her fingers lightly above it, making it hers. "Theo told me the centaurs spared us."

Her breath hitched. _She'll know,_ they had said, _she'll know him on sight -_

"The centaurs?" she managed, the words escaping unevenly, tripping coltishly off her tongue.

"Yes," he said, and then looked up, curiosity burying itself in the arch of his brow. "Do you know the story?"

 _Yes,_ she thought helplessly, _yes_ -

"I know a story," she murmured quietly. "About a day boy and a night girl."

His face shone with recognition.

"A boy only in the day," he said tentatively.

"A boy so steeped in sun," she whispered back.

He pulled her close - closer, _closer_ \- and as his breath warmed her ear - _tell me, Hermione, tell me everything -_ she surrendered her shallow depths, exhaling the words.

"Once there was a monster; a monster who craved control," she began, the story she was meant to tell, "and who created a boy only in the day, and a girl only in the night. The boy was kept separate, raised only to see the light, and he was so steeped in sun, and his childhood so saturated by it, that he knew no danger. He knew no fear. He was more a live thunderbolt than a human being; raised to fear nothing, and raised to hunt. But the girl was kept in the dark, never permitted to know more than what existed within the walls of her prison."

"The boy was so steeped in sun" - he shivered helplessly at that, and she pressed her fingers into his side, digging into the core of him - "and his childhood so saturated by it, that he knew nothing of darkness, or stars, or moon. He lived his days in favor and in privilege, glorified in the sun."

"One day," she murmured, "he caught sight of an animal unknown to him; one familiar, but distinct, and it settled into a hollow which the boy himself could not reach. He gave chase, noting the chaos the animal left in its path, but with great leaps and bounds, the creature stole farther and farther ahead of him, and vanished. Defeated, he turned to his keeper. _What animal was that_? he asked. _How did it escape?_ "

His arms tightened around her; _I know,_ she thought, _isn't it so familiar?_

A torment of futures and pasts. _I know,_ she thought, _I know you know the story._

"What did his keeper say?" Draco asked, the words fighting their way out of his throat.

" _The Chosen One_ , his keeper sneered. _A young lion, who seeks another path_ ," she said.

Draco, spellbound, didn't blink. "And the boy?"

" _A coward, then,_ the boy determined about the lion, _and_ _easy prey,_ " she said, "and his keeper replied, _for now_ ; but the boy was always meant to learn the hunt is not without its challenges."

He wrapped himself around her - _here you are, mine_ -

"The boy realized the young lion must be one of the creatures about which the monster, who cast an immutable shadow of fear to rule over both the boy and his keeper, had ominously warned. But once the boy had seen it, his curiosity could not be assuaged," she continued. "He continued to hunt, but not with his usual spirit. He could not find it in him to pursue the hunt with fervor."

"In search of the lion, he ventured for the first time into darkness. He thought himself brave, to pursue an animal of the night, but when he was no longer in the light," she whispered, as his fingers traced patterns along her hip, her waist, the span of her back, her shoulder, up to bury themselves in her hair, "when there was no light left to be found and the darkness surrounded him - "

She broke off as he kissed her; there was a desperation to his kiss, to the pressure of his lips, like he wished she would forget; she kissed him back, but didn't.

"He suddenly grew fearful," she said, feeling a brush of savagery, and at the look in his eye, she knew he was suffering it anew, the bits of the story he'd already lived. "The courage he thought he possessed had never been his own, he learned; it was not that he was courageous, never that he had been brave; only that he had been kept in the light for so long, so warmed by its protection, that he knew not the truth of the dark. He was but a spark, but he found that he himself was nothing, and it made him feeble, and he saw himself - "

"A _coward_ ," he choked out, closing his eyes, and she forced him onto his back, pressing herself against him.

"The beast who would have been his prey stole upon the boy; he reached within himself for courage and came up empty-handed, and could not even raise his hand from his side to strike. The only courage he could muster was a coward's; the only strength he had within him was to run, and not to fight. The only element that remained was his own contempt, and the ghost of his failures that howled after him, filled with screams and shrieks and roars which neither time nor distance could quell."

 _Screams and shrieks and roars -_ he was reliving it now, she could tell, feeling him shake beneath her; _inevitability and punishment._

"As the light of his charmed existence first began to fade, he felt a sudden tremor in his heart, a sense of fear that overtook him. He could not think what it was, could not reconcile it with his mind; but knew, somehow, that he was no longer the boy he had known, or even near what he had thought himself - "

"Stop," he begged, the word nearly voiceless, but she didn't; she curled her hand into a fist, pressing it against his chest as though she could beat her intent into his breath; _a reluctant hero is a hero still -_

"As he fled back to his home, to the safehold of his naive virtue, the moon peered up over its edge; it was only then that the boy realized the extent of the darkness that surrounded him. There was fresh terror, ghastly and gruesome, and he was desperate to escape; but despite all this, he had never known another way, and so he plunged in, struggling to surface."

"The monster," she continued quietly, "having given orders, took for granted they were obeyed, and that he ruled unquestionably over all the creatures of the day and night. But the monster could not get into the habit of peering into the depths, and by chance, his gaze passed over the day boy and the night girl, leaving one to slip out of the dark."

She pressed her palm to the crevice of his chest, and his breath eased for a moment, as though her touch had reminded him; _still breathing,_ she'd said, _still standing._

"The girl, being herself the object of the monster's loathing, had been forced into the shadows, held captive in the darkness. Everything she knew of the world she had learned from the dark, from her position of displeasure under the abominable shadow of the monster's influence. She grew in the chasm of his hatred, and in the clutches of the monster's grasp, she was reduced almost to nothing - "

He gripped her arms tightly, almost painfully, and for some strange reason, she wanted it; she ached to feel the pressure, to suffer the constriction so to remind her how she'd _gotten out_ , and was gratified by his hold.

"There was a time when she thought there was no world outside the darkness; indeed, there was a time when she could believe no other element existed but the dark. In the diminutiveness of her hope she had been sure that if ever there had been light, the darkness had surely eaten it up," she said, believing it for a moment, a memory of meagerness. "Her access to the world was scattered and small; it seemed to the girl that she possessed nothing but a vision of a closed door, and for a time, it was a door she dared not approach, lest she become overtaken by the monster, or by the spiny tendrils of his accursed reign."

"But then it seemed to the girl that some ball of light, some source, was watching over her" - his grasp on her tightened like a promise, like an unspoken oath, as if to say _let it be me_ \- "and when that doorway was laid bare for her, the desire at once awoke to escape from her prison. She scarcely knew what she would find, but still she went out, to follow her ball of light."

She stopped, touching her hand to the light of him, and he stared at her.

"What did she find?" he asked hoarsely. "What was it like out of the dark?"

She smiled.

"Alas," she said, the smile condescending to a grimace, "out was very much like in, she realized, stumbling out of her cage; for the same enemy, the darkness, was there also. And yet, in nearly the same moment, she sensed a great gladness, a pulsing ebb and throb of light, which pushed towards her from a distance, as though to reach out a hand for her to grasp. It did not seem to know the way, but still she reached for it, stumbling towards the shiningness of it; the truth somehow made clear to her, revealed to her as though written in the depths of her soul."

 _Soul,_ she thought, and despite knowing the words - despite all that she knew - hers was enflamed.

"The day boy's venture into dark had caused him to collapse within himself; his entire being eclipsed, it seemed, by his fear of the monster, and by his harrowing encounter with what he had not known of the world. Darkness had befallen him, and yet the world expected him to remain as glorified as he had been in the day; and it made him weary, and weakened, and for a time he was sapped of his strength." She smoothed his hair back, a motion of reassurance, and he closed his eyes. "He stumbled blindly in the darkness; abandoned, rendered unseeing and small without the light he'd grown accustomed to bearing, and he remained this way for what felt to him to be an eternity, imprisoned by the burden of his loss."

"For a time he considered himself disheartened, brought low by his failures, and desiring only to return from whence he came, to a version of himself which could withstand the future tests of night; that he might be as brave as the prey he thought he had mastered, which had run easily into the arduous dark. For he was not prey, nor much a predator, and hung suspended, uncertain of his place. Only one thing carried any hope for him, enfeebled as he was: the resolve to force his way through the dark in earnest, once he knew something of what it was made of. To encounter it head on - to know danger, but not defeat - would be to triumph over darkness, and to meet his fate - fearless and cool, his destiny held tight in his fist - would be to redraw the stars by which he lived."

 _Foretelling,_ she heard again; _she will know him on sight._

"It was in his ventures in the dark that he stumbled upon the night girl, thinking her some glimmer of promise; he awoke with his gaze fixed upon a set of golden marvels above him, the glimpse of her like a better sky, and she seemed for a moment to give him courage, and to assuage his terror. And the night girl, who had never been blessed with certainty, knew at once that this, at least, was true: this light, like herself, was seeking the way out, and it longed, as she did, for more."

" _A boy so steeped in sun_ , the night girl murmured to the day boy, reaching out for his hand, and only then did he realize that she was the brilliant light upon which he gazed. _Nevermind; I will be your eyes in the darkness, and teach you to see_ ," she said.

A promise within a promise; he pressed his lips to her shoulder, burying his face in her neck.

 _Today,_ she thought, _together -_

" _It is so horribly dark_ , the boy whispered to her as he lay collapsed in her arms, a lost soul without the splendor of the sun. _This darkness creeps into me, seeping into my skin and my thoughts - if only the sun would rise_ , he sighed, _if only the sun would rise_. But she, who herself had risen triumphant in the slimness of her sight, could still see glory in the dark."

 _Today,_ she thought, _together -_

"The day boy, shrouded in darkness, feared that should the monster discover he had been victim to his own deficiencies, it might grow angry at the fractures in his sun-drenched benediction; for the day boy's weakness would surely have meant the monster's own failure, and then the monster would slowly grow to hate and mistrust him, looking on him as an artist would his wretched canvas - enflamed with disappointment - and seek to destroy his own work."

"And so it seemed, for a time, that the day boy and the night girl stood in the midst of an unknown land, confined by despair, neither of them able to move a step; each supported only by the weakness of the other; each ready to fall if the other were to collapse, or be subjected to fear. But where weakness was balanced, so, too, was strength, and after a time, the day boy was revived; in the promise of the night girl's resilience, he grew brighter in his lightness."

 _We rise -_

"They were joined, night and day, girl and boy, balanced on the razor-edge of horizon, and it was far too late to turn," she said into the silk of his skin. "For indeed, where he gaped, she rose, and where she faltered, he gleamed; and when darkness fell around them, they staggered slowly forward, illuminated in the sharedness of their sight."

 _Today,_ she thought, _together -_

"What's the end?" he asked, and the stillness that meant _Draco_ wrapped itself around her, bringing her back to the sanctity of his space. "What's to become of them? Are they destroyed by the monster?"

 _Foretelling,_ she thought, and _she will know him on sight._

"I don't know," she said. "I never heard the end of that story. That's as much as I know."

He looked up, then, a sense of purpose glinting in his eye. "Is it the only untold story?" he asked gruffly - a touch of boyishness, a selfish breath of _mine_ \- his arm wrapping around her ribs and holding her against him. "Is our story the only one you don't know?"

Her heart beat out a rhythm; a cadence of redemption.

 _Today,_ she felt it sing, _together -_

"Yes," she exhaled, and he kissed her like he couldn't help it, like her breath was all his lungs could stand; and she, reduced to ash and reborn, let out a quiet gasp, molten and altered as the earth shook.

 _Today -_

"Not done with you," he murmured, as though he'd been issued a challenge; as though time itself had threatened and he'd spat it back and ground it out, a mix of wrathful fury and an unrelenting fight.

 _Together -_

"Come back to me safe," she said, his hand slipping against the curve of her thigh, "come back to me whole - "

 _We rise -_

They moved together easily, like _inevitability_ was only another word for _instinct,_ like their separation had been the less natural thing; like it had been the state of absence that was a curse and not the cursed sacrilege of their joining. Like they were purity instead of wrathful circumstance, a joyful truth made up of everything they'd been born to stand against. She, above him, pulled his wrist to her lips; _for what you were_ , she thought, _that made you what you are._

 _Today -_

He threw her onto her back, intent to make her see; to force her to look in his eyes and not at the marks of his past. The grey sparked and ignited - _don't you see, don't you see I'm yours?_ \- and she clung to him, digging her nails in to draw meaning from his motions, from the fruition of his being.

 _Together -_

What had started a slow collision built to a frenzied crash, a percussive devolution that parsed out the raging of her pulse; the flame of him, his edges, buried themselves inside her, licked at the truth of what she was and she heard it, heard the words, heard her heart -

 _Today_

 _Together_

We rise, we rise, _we rise -_

She let it out in a gasp and he fell against her.

"You lied," Harry said flatly.

She closed her eyes.

Draco kissed her neck - _mine,_ he said, selfishly - and she clung desperately to the weight of him, not looking up.

* * *

"Are you sure you want me here?" Theo asked skeptically, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorway of the kitchen. "I can't imagine Granger will take kindly to a babysitter."

"You're not a babysitter," Draco reminded him. "She doesn't need _babysitting_ , I just don't want her to be alone."

"Remind me again how you're not fucking her?" Theo prompted, and Draco glared at him.

"Could you not?" he said briskly. "I'm sort of hoping for a 'get in, get out' situation - "

"Unlike fucking Granger," Theo suggested tangentially, "which is a _stay out_ situation, yes?"

"Are you supposed to be _my_ babysitter now?" Draco demanded. "Honestly, Theo - "

"I don't know why you insist on pretending you're not entirely transparent, but by all means, let's play that game," Theo sniffed. "Always a charming pastime."

"Look," Draco sighed, "it'll be a short trip, okay? Going to stop at the Black property, have a look around for a bit. Shouldn't even be gone the whole day."

"Unless you find him," Theo said, raising an eyebrow, and Draco nodded.

"In which case, perhaps less," he ventured brightly, then dismissed his foolhardy optimism in less than a captive breath. "It's a longshot, anyway."

"You'll have to stay gone for enough time for Pansy to look for Smith," Theo reminded him.

"I'm aware," Draco muttered impatiently, "hence you being here." He looked around the kitchen, thinking. "I feel like I'm forgetting something."

"Is it that you're fucking Granger?" Theo suggested. "Good news, I haven't forgotten."

"Stop," Draco said warningly, pointing a finger at him. "Go easy on her." He grimaced, wondering if this was actually a terrible idea, given Theo's unenviable lack of tact. "She hasn't spoken to anyone but me in weeks, remember, and before that - "

"Listen," Theo interrupted, "my company will be a welcome reprieve," he determined smoothly. "Seeing as _I_ am neither her captor, nor am I _you_."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Draco said indignantly.

"That you're a difficult human being, Draco," Theo supplied, shrugging. "You know this. Whereas I," he said grandly, " _without_ fail, am an unparalleled joy."

Draco glanced dubiously at him. "Just - don't overwhelm her, okay?" he muttered gruffly. "She's still - " he broke off, hesitating. "Rough around the edges."

He pushed the thought of her, of the way she'd clung to him - _come back to me safe, come back to me whole_ \- out of his mind, along with the corresponding guilt. _I'd stay,_ he wanted to whisper, _I'd stay and watch the world burn beside you, with you, for you -_

Only life ticked on outside them, despite his best efforts.

"Yeah, I'm familiar," Theo drawled disinterestedly, eyeing his fingernails. "I'm not entirely inept when it comes to human interaction, despite your obvious disagreement."

Draco sighed, applying a brusque shove to his feelings of unease and turning to face his best friend.

"Don't be a prat," he said. "And I'll be back soon."

"Draco," Theo said quickly, reaching out to grip his arm. "Don't get yourself killed."

 _Come back to me safe, come back to me whole -_

"Yeah," Draco said quietly, and turned to walk out the door.

* * *

"You lied," Harry said again, kinder this time, and she sighed.

"What's your advice, then?" she snapped, rubbing at her eyes. "What charming motivation do _you_ wish me to have, Harry?"

"I wish you'd learn I'm only here for you," he admonished evenly, stepping towards her. "Hardly seems fair for you to bite off my head just for existing."

"Not just for _existing_ ," she muttered. "For _interfering_."

"With what?" Harry prompted, half a laugh on the swell of his lips. "Pretend time with Draco?"

"He's real," Hermione shot back, bristling. "More real than you."

"How real can he be if you lie to him?" Harry countered. "He might _physically_ exist, sure - but what good does it do you if you only - "

"It's not a lie," Hermione cut in sharply. "I don't _lie_ , I only - "

"Omit crucial truths," Harry supplied, tsking. "Come on, Hermione, you're smart enough to know that whatever title you paint across it, you let him walk out of here on a liar's whim."

" _Let_ him?" she exclaimed. "You think _I_ wanted him to go?"

"You certainly didn't stop him," Harry reminded her. "You saw his face. If you'd asked him, he would have stayed."

She swallowed; _that's true,_ she bit back, and sighed. "I don't want to be in the business of asking things from him," she confessed.

"Ah, trust issues," Harry remarked, shrugging. "Should have spent more time with Ginny."

"With _Ginny_?" Hermione exhaled, the name a gasp of disbelief. "Ginny is the _poster child_ for legitimizing my trust issues - "

"We can squabble over it later," Harry interrupted briskly. "Whenever you like. But the issue at hand is that you _knew_ he wasn't going to find answers in the woods in France."

"Not _those_ answers," she hesitantly agreed. "But that's not to say they're not still somehow significant."

"You really think Firenze is there?" Harry asked, raising a skeptical brow.

"No," Hermione admitted sulkily. "But there's some validity to going because Zacharias Smith went there, don't you think?"

Harry shrugged.

"Doesn't matter what I think," he reminded her. "My opinions are the least of it."

"Your opinions are everything," Hermione said softly. " _You_ are everything."

Harry softened, and then the laughter returned to his eyes.

"Not anymore," he reminded her. "Or have you forgotten the presence of the day boy himself?"

"Maybe it's not him," she said. "The centaurs have been wrong before."

"But _you_ know it's him," Harry argued, the curve of a playful taunt flitting across his mouth. "The centaurs have been wrong, but not Hermione Granger."

"Hilarious," she muttered, closing her eyes. She took a pause for breath - greedily - and then another. "I never liked the story, you know."

"Despite knowing the ending?" he asked.

" _Because_ of the ending," Hermione replied. "The ending is the crux of it."

She could feel Harry shrug beside her. "Seems like it should be a relief, wouldn't you say?"

"No," she said, her eyes fluttering open. "No, it's not. Because if he's - "

She paused.

" _Foretold_ ," Harry supplied, smiling.

"Foretold," she breathed out in agreement, "then what are you? Plan A? The plan that failed? The prophecy that was misread, and so we moved on?"

"Does it matter that I should be the Chosen One?" Harry asked. "You never cared much for the title."

"Of course it matters," she said, closing her eyes again. "I have loved you with every stupid, shredded fiber of my soul, and Chosen One or not, you're the one I'll follow," she murmured. "I will be steadfastly with you until the day I die, Harry - " _We live together,_ she thought, _or we die together._

"And Draco's insertion means what, then?" he asked. "That you lose me?" She felt him shift closer to her. "Is that what you're worried about?"

"Is that so crazy?" she asked, and then wondered if it was, or if she were even qualified to rule on what was _crazy_ anymore. "If he's - if he's the day boy - if he's _foretold_ , then - "

" _You're_ foretold, too," Harry reminded her. "You're the girl."

"I'm an afterthought," she corrected him, "or I should be. I shouldn't be any more than a page in your story."

"It's not _my_ story," he said with a shrug. "You don't have to make your life the setting for my story - or Draco's story, for that matter."

"You're a hero," she said, shaking her head. "You do it so well."

"So are you," he said, the statement carrying between them with ease. "You're the hero in my story."

"Not alone," she whispered, wishing she could feel him beside her; to be assured, one more time, by the comfort of his presence. "Not without you."

There was a noise behind her, a cough from the doorway, and she whipped around, finding herself face to face with Theo Nott.

"Granger," he said curiously, glancing around the room, "who the fuck are you talking to?"

 _Harry,_ she wanted to say, but he wasn't there; _no one,_ she realized, _and nothing,_ and there was never anything, and he was _never there -_

And she was alone.

"Granger," he repeated, frowning, "are you okay?"

"No," she whispered back, lifting her fingers to where Harry had been. "No, I'm not okay."

* * *

 _ **1998**_

* * *

"You know as well as I do that the one we saw was not the boy, Magorian," Bane said irritably. "Are we really to watch over them while he is not the one we seek?"

"It is never _we_ who do the seeking," Magorian admonished him sternly. "We simply _see_. It is not our calling to act on what the stars have foretold."

"Still," Ronan murmured. "Is it not enough to have found the girl? Will her path not lead her to the boy?"

"You've read the stars," Magorian said, his human torso offering a shrug, his hooves beating against the earth. "You know, then, that she has a journey to complete."

 _Complete,_ she thought, and wondered; _what else was left?_

"Fools, aren't we?" Ronan commented, his voice quiet and mournful. "Always throwing ourselves to celestial whims."

"It is the stars who outlast us," Bane countered brusquely, pawing at the ground. " _You_ are a fool indeed, Ronan, to make light of their truths."

Ronan opened his mouth to protest, but Magorian held up a hand in warning.

"Isn't there war enough outside this forest without you two joining in?" Magorian sniffed. "The girl is here. We know this." He paused. "She will make her way out of the dark."

"Is she not already?" Bane asked, suddenly startled. "Is this still the makings of her dark?"

"You know the story," Magorian reminded him. "This was not the boy, and the boy and the girl are neither without the other."

" _But for all that the night girl was bright_ ," Ronan recited, " _and for all that she shone in her strength, she saw the world with the eyes of an artist, and without the cold drive of the hunter; and when her need was greater, it was the day boy, whose trials seemed to pale against the light of her eyes, who sought to take aim_."

"Take aim," Bane repeated, puzzled, "and he is a hunter. Is it he, then? Is it the boy who is to triumph?" He shook his head. "Is it not the girl to save us, nor the Chosen One?"

"Prophecies and stars do not always move in concert; the Chosen One may remain, but this, a second piece, may be no less true," Magorian supplied evenly. "As for the girl - the boy is not the boy without her, making her no less a savior."

" _If day and night were balanced on the razor-edge of horizon_ ," Ronan quoted, " _was one to exist without the other? Or was day meant to devolve, reaching its golden arms into the mourning tendrils of night?_ "

"The end of the story, though," Bane pressed. "In the foretelling - does not the _boy_ defeat the monster?"

"It is the Day Boy that kills the monster," Magorian confirmed. "If we are right - if this is the girl, and this is her path - then we must not interfere."

They considered the words for a moment.

"Shouldn't she know?" Ronan asked eventually. "Should she not be primed to recognize him?"

Strangely, Magorian smiled.

"She will know him," Magorian said. "The boy, so steeped in sun - she will know him on sight."

And then his eyes traveled slowly through the trees, meeting hers through the foliage, and she ran.

* * *

 _ **2005 (Present)**_

* * *

Draco landed with a soft crack on sodden earth, having chosen his location based on the Black property that stood at the southeast corner of the forest. Better to legitimize the lie, he reasoned; surveying the land wouldn't be suspect, and in a matter of - he paused, checking his watch - a handful of hours, he'd have managed what he came here to do.

It had felt less and less urgent since he'd made the decision to leave; he supposed that was the consequence of having shifted his priorities, making Granger the driving force behind his aimless search for meaning. The things that had seemed important - _you're fucking foretold, Draco -_ suddenly seemed to pale at the thought of her, at the notion that he could return to her, to be with her -

It ached, the thought of where he could be; how long could he have been there, been _here_ , been in a world where her edges overlapped with his, been within the confines of her atmosphere -

 _The choices we might have made, if only we could retract a step -_

It had been a different person who had wanted this, who had felt this necessary, who at one time possessed thoughts outside of escaping to a world where only she existed; a world where he could draw the blinds on Pansy's look of defeat, on Theo's vacant hopelessness, on his father's relentless demands - _if nothing comes of it, she dies -_

He shook himself free of it; there was no escape.

 _Where would you be, a step back?_

 _With you,_ he thought desperately, _with you -_

But that had not been the way of things, and _would_ not be the way of things, if he could not uncover the answers; whether he stood by his promise to her or by his claim to his father, there was no getting around the necessity of chasing the meager trails he had. Firenze or not - and whatever Smith had been here for, or as was more likely, _not_ \- he couldn't afford to leave a single avenue unexplored.

 _How does one seek out a centaur?_ he mused, stepping carefully through the woods; he raised his wand, casting a silent _Revelio_ , watching as the spell's glowing orb slipped deftly between the narrow trunks, traversing an arc around him.

He squinted through the foliage, catching something; the orb glowed brighter, turning a bright crimson, and Draco paused mid-stride, his wand out.

"Someone there?" he called, and there was a breath of eerie silence; he stepped forward, hearing the soft crunch of leaves underfoot, and then -

He felt a blow to his windpipe as he was knocked onto his back, legs nearly thrown overhead; his wand fell from his hand and he scrambled for it, gripping it with the tips of his fingers just as he felt a swift kick to his abdomen, the toe of a well-worn shoe landing directly at the base of his ribs as he curled around himself, panting.

"What the _fuck_ ," he gasped, glancing up as his grip loosened again on his wand. "What did you think I was - "

Draco looked up into the hardened eyes of someone who registered first as a memory, and then - his vision clearing - as a nightmare; a figment that was somehow both unforgettable and unrecognizable, distorted by time and trauma. The dark hair was just as wild, the eyes just as jeweled, but were now filled with something Draco had grown to diagnose in the midst of his own tribulations as _rage_ , a manic fury that manifested itself in the lines of a once youthful face.

"Where," he growled, his voice raspy from underuse, "the _fuck_ is she, Malfoy?"

Draco froze, his breath suspended.

"I've been looking for you," he managed, the words frothing out.

"Congratulations," Potter spat. "Mission accomplished."

* * *

 **a/n:** Dedicated to bluedarling; I always like a throwback to a former _Clean_ WIP reader. Thanks for joining me here!


	18. The Troubled Resurrection

**Part II  
** _ **Nocturnes**_

* * *

 **Chapter 18: The Troubled Resurrection**

"Granger," Theo said again, peering around the room before taking a tentative step towards her, "who are you talking to?"

She waited for Harry to reappear; for Bill, even, to tell her to _lie,_ to _take_ , to do what she could to survive; for Ginny, for Luna; for _someone else_ , to tell her to _run_ -

"Nobody," she said, swallowing. "There's nobody there."

"I see that," Theo ventured slowly, as though he wished very much to say something considerably more direct. " _Was_ there somebody there?"

"No," she murmured quietly. "Not really."

He crossed his arms in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

"Draco doesn't know about this, then," he deduced, looking thoughtful. "Does he?"

She shook her head. "Nothing to tell," she muttered, and he scoffed, taking the few long strides to reach her and leaning back against the bedpost.

"Clearly," he enunciated loudly, "I _must_ look stupid, because everybody insists on lying to me." He stared at her; she lowered her gaze to her bare feet. "He mentioned you'd been" - he paused, thinking - "unsteady."

She said nothing.

"I take it this has been going on for a while," he estimated. "Since they took you, I'm guessing?"

She winced. A flicker passed over his face, like he regretted the word choice.

"Sorry," he murmured. "I just meant - "

He exhaled, abandoning the effort. "Who is it?" he asked instead. "The person you're talking to."

She looked up at him, considering the value of an answer. _Green eyes,_ she noted, _dark hair;_ if he were a touch less lanky, if he ever opted for a smile over a smirk, he might look a lot like -

"I can see that you don't trust me," Theo announced, nodding at her as though he'd settled something for himself. "Fair enough. But permit me to make some assumptions." He glanced warily at her - checking if she were listening, she guessed - and then squared his shoulders, continuing. "Clearly you trust Draco. If I were you," he postulated loudly, "and I were as smart as you are - which I am," he told her brusquely, "Hogwarts years aside - "

She fought a smile.

"I would trust him too, I think, but mostly because I had no choice," he wagered, "and only to the point where I became vulnerable by my trust." He shrugged. "You _need_ him, of course, because your life depends on him - "

He waited, watching for a reaction. She didn't give him one.

" - and so you've probably only told him as much as he needs to know. And you're probably aware that hearing voices is never a good sign, and so you haven't told him that, and for whatever reason, he hasn't caught you." He paused, taking a breath. "Perhaps you've recently gotten comfortable with him," he murmured, "and now you've let down your guard - so maybe he was bound to catch you, if I hadn't done it first. Maybe you're realizing that now." He looked up, meeting her eye. "Right?"

 _Right,_ she tried desperately not to say.

"Well," he said, straightening, "that's all well and good, except now something has happened, hasn't it? You didn't want him to go," he wagered, "and I think it's because you know more than you're telling him. And despite the fact that I have _told_ him this countless times - " he broke off, looking haughtily irritated, "I'm almost positive he has invested far more of himself than he should have done. Am I cor- " he stopped, shaking his head. "No, never mind. I _know_ I'm right."

"In any case," he continued, "while I suspect you've not been nearly as open with him as he's been with you, you should know that he's being sincere with you. And it's fucking stupid," he added vehemently. "He's a fucking _idiot_ , but you should also know - "

He stood, turning to face her. "You do not get to fuck with him," he said, so quietly - the words so forcefully shoved between his teeth - that she could only _just_ hear him. "You can resent him if you want, you can hate him for what he did to you, for what our side took from you - but I will be here," he promised harshly, "I will be here to make sure you don't tear him apart. He has suffered. We have _all_ suffered, and whether or not we were the lucky ones compared to you, I won't let you break him."

She looked up, privately marveling - that he could _think_ \- that he would somehow _not know_ -

"I don't want to hurt him," she whispered back. "I don't."

He waited a moment, searching her, and then took a step back.

"I hope you mean that," he said, with a coldness she would not have thought possible; only she suddenly remembered he'd been a Slytherin - a Death Eater's son, and a Death Eater himself - and perhaps he wasn't much like Harry at all.

"I owe him my life," Theo informed her. "Many times over, I owe him my life. So," he finished, "I won't let you toy with _his_." He crossed his arms. "Understood?"

She turned towards the window.

"Harry," she supplied in answer, and she heard a rustle behind her, the resonation of his startled motion.

"What?"

"Harry," she repeated. "That's who I was talking to."

He paused. "But - "

"It's not really him," she explained, turning back to face him. "It's a product of - I don't know, my imagination, I guess. He shows up sometimes," she added. "I saw him for the first time when I was in - "

She stopped, and Theo nodded sympathetically. "He's a survival mechanism?" he guessed.

"I would imagine so," Hermione agreed. "Something to keep me going."

"No harm in that," Theo determined, shrugging. Now that the threat to Draco was dealt with, she noted, he had relaxed considerably. "I would be surprised if you'd come out of that without any lingering damage. Knowing your brain, anyway," he said, smirking a little, "I'd have been shocked if it didn't splinter."

"Reassuring," she muttered, and he chuckled.

"You're upset," he recalled, sobering slightly. "Something imaginary Potter said?" He stepped closer. "Is it because Draco's gone?"

"Harry accused me of lying," Hermione offered stiffly, and then suppressed a mirthless laugh. "Harry," she repeated, shaking her head at her own folly. " _Me_ , I guess."

"For argument's sake, between two _equally brilliant_ intellectuals," Theo determined, sniffing, and she suppressed a laugh, "let's just call him Potter." He tilted his head, wondering. "What does he think you lied about?"

She sighed, wondering where to start. "The reason Draco originally wanted to go to France," she began uncertainly, checking for recognition. "The centaurs?"

"Ah, yes, because he's _foretold_ ," Theo said, nodding. "Over here on this side of the war, we don't often get included in a lot of foretellings, you see," he commented drily. "So it seemed to us something worth pursuing."

She nodded. "He wanted to know what the centaurs had said," Hermione offered.

"Yes," Theo replied, unfazed; it took a moment - a moment of waiting for her to continue and then finding her unwilling - but then, eventually, his eyes widened. "You already know what the centaurs said," he realized, gently horrified, shaking his head as his temper flared. "And then you let him go without _telling him_?"

"He wasn't just going for that!" Hermione insisted, feeling her cheeks flush. "It's like he said, Zacharias Smith went there, it _can't_ be a coincidence - "

"But you knew the truth and didn't tell him," Theo countered darkly. "Don't think that just because the ends have changed, the means have not." He eyed her with an unsettling sternness. "What is it you didn't tell him? Is he part of this?" He took a few eager steps closer, as if he couldn't help it. "The centaurs, they spared his life - why would they - "

"Because," she interrupted, shutting her eyes forcefully, "because _he's_ the one who's going to defeat You-Know-Who." Once the words had left her, she felt a rush of hysterical babbling dribble hastily from her lips, pouring out unsteadily - "They said the stars had changed, that something happened and the prophecy about Harry had changed, that Draco is this - this _hunter_ , and he'll - he'll defeat You-Know-Who with a _bow_ \- and I don't even know if that's metaphorical or literal, I have no idea how to - "

"Fucking - _hold on_ ," Theo interrupted forcefully, reaching out to grip her shoulders. "Are you telling me _Draco_ is the Chosen One now?"

"No," Hermione said, biting her lip, "or at least - I don't think so, it's not the same - " she shook her head, still panicking. "The centaurs said Harry is still part of it, somehow - that there had been a rift in circumstance and so our futures had been altered - I don't really - "

She shook her arms free of his hold. "I don't _know_!" she shouted, starting to pace the bedroom floor. "I don't know what it means, I only know - " she looked up, pleading with him. "I only know I can't _tell him_ , I can't - "

"No," Theo agreed, nodding thoughtfully. "You certainly can't tell Draco about this."

She paused mid-step, turning to face him. "What?"

"You can't tell him _yet_ ," Theo amended. "He's not ready. He doesn't even know why the fuck he's doing" - he waved his hand around wildly - " _any_ of this. He thinks it's about you," he decided. "Well, he hasn't actually admitted that yet," he corrected himself, frowning. "He's making it about some kind of - some sort of penance, something about blood on our hands - "

"Blood on your hands," Hermione repeated, aghast. "What did you do?"

"What did _you_ do?" Theo countered indignantly. "It's one thing for me to decide he's not ready to hear that, but _you -_ "

He broke off, eyeing her suspiciously. "What's your angle here?" he demanded. "If Draco's supposed to defeat the Dark Lord, then why the fuck - " He stopped. "Did you know about this when you saw him at the Manor? How long have you known?"

"He told you about that?" Hermione asked quietly. "I didn't know then - I only know when I saw him again, when he found me - "

"Oh, and I'm _sure_ that must have seemed stupidly romantic for both of you," Theo muttered irritably. "But why?" he asked again, still adamant. "Why wouldn't you tell him, why wouldn't you try to recruit him, or - "

He stiffened. "Or _are_ you?" he asked suspiciously. "Is this why you're even telling him anything _at all_? Because you need him on your side?" He wagged a finger at her. "If you've used some kind of feminine wiles to trap him, I swear to - "

"I don't want to _trap_ him!" Hermione cut in desperately. "I don't! I - I don't even want to _admit_ that it's him - "

"What?" Theo asked bluntly. "You - you're not - "

"My best friend is _missing_!" Hermione protested weakly. "Maybe dead - the person I have loved most in my life is _gone_ , and you think I want to just - to just _replace_ him - "

"So you're saying you don't want to admit it could be Draco - because you still want it to be Potter?" Theo echoed, shaking his head. "Fucking _hell_ , Granger, is all of this really just about who gets the credit for saving the world?"

"No!" she shouted, sinking into the mattress behind her. "No, I just - "

She pulled her legs up, yanking them into her, and sighed against her knees. "I just don't want to admit it yet," she confessed. "I don't want to believe the whole world has forgotten about Harry, I don't want to stop looking for him, and I want - "

She looked up miserably, meeting his eye. "I want Draco for _me_ ," she whispered. "I don't want to lose him to the war the way I lost - "

She hesitated.

"Everyone," Theo supplied grimly. "Don't think I don't know that." He moved to sit beside her, shaking his head as he sank back against the mattress. "Don't think I'm not sorry, either," he murmured, and she nodded, eyes still fixed downwards.

He leaned back against his elbows after a moment, sighing. "And I _knew_ you two were fucking, by the way," he said brusquely, aiming his chin at her accusatorily before muttering quietly to himself. "That pale lying fuckstick - "

"Do you opt for vulgarity because it helps you avoid saying what you mean?" she asked, tilting her head to glance at him. "Because you can't just say 'I'm worried about my friend' without giving up some of your carefully cultivated" - she gestured vaguely across him - " _armor_ , and so you cover it with obscenities?"

He grimaced, curling a hand around his mouth. "Pretending to understand me now, Granger?"

She shrugged. "If you're going to do the same for me, it only seems fair," she warned, arching a brow.

A smile pulled at the corners of his lips. "You know," he remarked slowly, "we're clearly either going to be best fucking friends, or we're going to _hate_ each other."

She felt her own smile slip. "Aren't you tired of hate, Theo?" she asked softly. "Haven't you seen enough of it?"

He paused; sincerity bled from his expression.

"Friends, then," he offered.

"Best fucking friends," she murmured, and they shared a moment in the light.

* * *

Draco said nothing - waiting - until Potter grimaced, his irritation manifesting glumly on his face.

"Do you need some time to compose yourself?" he demanded, gritting his teeth. "I'd have found you sooner, Malfoy, but your fucking _house -_ "

"Sooner?" Draco repeated, staring at him. "You haven't been in France the whole time?"

Potter's teeth cut against his lip as he laughed. "You think I live the kind of life where I can stay in one place? No," he spat. "I was following Smith to find out what he did with Hermione. Not that it helped," he conceded bitterly. "Smith didn't know where she was, and he wasn't fucking bothering to look, either."

Draco frowned. "But then - how did you - "

"I was there for your little forest encounter," Potter informed him, nudging his wand a little closer as though Draco might have forgotten how vulnerable he was. "I saw Smith and his cronies follow you, and I watched you obliviate him. There was no need to go after him after that," Potter added, as though this were both incredibly rude of Draco to have done, and exceedingly obvious, "and I _tried_ to follow Nott after I heard Smith say something about you having Hermione - "

"I don't _have_ her," Draco said quickly, swallowing. "It's not like that - "

"I don't give a _fuck_ , Malfoy," Potter grunted back, his shoulder twitching as he frowned. "But I've been following you and Nott for weeks and I can't _fucking_ get in - "

"It's the Room of Requirement all over again, Potter," Draco murmured, smirking a little against his better judgment; Potter retaliated to the slight by gifting him another sharp kick to the ribs, a cold fury washing over his face. "For fuck's sake," Draco growled, glaring up at him, "it's the _wards_ \- Theo can't fucking get in either, not without me - "

"Wards," Potter repeated, frowning. "But - "

"Black blood only," Draco supplied, struggling to sit up. "Nobody but me can get in - "

"Stay down," Potter snapped, the tip of his wand sparking ominously as he jammed it into Draco's face. "I didn't say you could get up."

"What are you going to do, then?" Draco demanded, looking cross-eyed at the point of the wand at his nose. "Are you fucking planning on killing me, Potter?"

"Not now, I'm not," Potter said stiffly. "Not if I need you to get in your damn house."

"Well, thank Salazar for that," Draco muttered, rolling his eyes. "Never mind the murder part, just use me as a fucking house key, by all means - "

"Don't fuck with me, Malfoy," Potter warned.

Draco nearly growled his frustration.

"I can't go back yet," he said. "I've got - " He hesitated, straining to think of how to explain Pansy's outing. "I - there's something happening and I can't go back early, there's a _reason_ I'm gone - "

"You think I care what happens to you?" Potter demanded, his eyes flashing. "You think I care _at all_ what happens to you? I want _Hermione_ ," he snapped emphatically. "It'll take me five seconds to get to her and then you can deal with the consequences however the fuck you want - "

Draco scarcely heard the end of the sentence with the way his blood rushed furiously into his ears at the words; at the notion that he would take her. The thought alone was a terrible blow, dealt straight to his chest; it was a stunning context to the last time he and Potter seen each other, alone in the Ministry, with the words _where is she?_ curling themselves helplessly from Draco's tongue.

Now Draco _knew_ , he knew _precisely_ what the answer was, just as he knew what she tasted like, and how it felt to wrap himself around her; and at the prospect of returning - of devolving, _again_ , to _where is she?_ \- the air seemed to seep from his lungs and he felt himself dragged achingly to the surface, _gasping_ -

"She's safer with me," Draco choked out, though he could see Potter felt no sympathy for him. "This life on the run, it doesn't make sense - it's - " he stammered. "You _can't_ \- "

"Look, I don't know what your deal is with her," Potter interrupted, looking faintly annoyed. "This obsession, or whatever it is - "

"It's not," Draco began, but Potter cut him off.

"I don't care," he said sharply, and it was overwhelmingly clear that he didn't. "She's all I have left. She's _all I have left,_ " he repeated, more helplessly, looking as though it burned through him to say it, "and I will do whatever it takes. Killing you," he suggested at a whisper, crouching down to tuck his wand under Draco's chin, nudging it at his throat, " _not_ killing you, it means nothing to me either way. You'll take me to her," Potter told him flatly. "You'll do it."

There was no _or else._ There was no need for it; Draco swallowed, trying to ignore the sting against his skin, and looked up. _A reluctant hero is a hero still,_ he thought, and felt the light of her flood through him.

He knew, didn't he? How she felt, how she'd suffered; he _knew_ , and -

"I won't keep you from her," Draco gritted out hoarsely. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. With her, it's not - " He stopped, watching Potter's eyes follow his expression curiously. _It's not an obsession,_ he thought, _it's inevitability -_

 _And punishment_ , he knew, and felt the blow of it again.

But whatever he felt - _whatever he dreaded_ -

"I'm not a fucking monster, Potter," he finished, resigning himself to his reality; that wherever they went from there, and wherever they'd been, that much was still true. "I'm not going to keep her from you."

 _I saved you once, Potter,_ Draco thought furiously, _and you saved me -_

 _And we're not fucking meant to be the ruin of each other._

For a moment, Potter seemed to understand him; and in that same moment Draco realized, too, that whatever Potter had meant to do - whatever means he had left to rip the life from him - killing had never been part of the plan.

"Fine," Potter said brusquely, pocketing Draco's wand and pulling away, permitting him to slowly rock forward. "Let's go, then - "

 _But there was more harm to come,_ Draco thought, and shut his eyes as he staggered to his feet.

* * *

"So what's with the 'steeped in sun' thing?" Theo asked lazily, turning his head to look at her. "I mean, Draco's not exactly the _steeped in sun_ type, you know - "

"It's a metaphor," Hermione supplied, shrugging. "Sun representing privilege, I think."

" _It's a metaphor,_ " Theo mimicked, teasing her. "Fancy that - "

"Okay, you _asked_ ," she reminded him sharply, and then leaned to the side, thinking. "Maybe privilege isn't right."

"I would certainly hope not," Theo said, disgruntled. "The phrase loses a bit of its beauty when you boil it down to galleons, don't you think?"

"Well, I never said _money_ ," Hermione insisted. "It's more - well - _light_ ," she managed, fighting the blush that rose in her cheeks. "I mean, I can see it - when I look at him," she murmured, "I can see - "

 _Inevitability,_ she thought; _and it seemed to her some ball of light, some source, was watching over her -_

"Oh, _gross_ ," Theo sniffed, shaking his head in vehement disapproval and breaking her of her reverie. "Pretend I didn't say anything."

She pursed her lips, smirking. "Very funny," she murmured, and then closed her eyes. "It's interesting, you know," she remarked tangentially. "Odd, I mean, that I haven't heard any, um - "

"Voices?" he asked, and she nodded. "Well," he said airily, "one person's 'odd' is another person's 'deeply gratifying relief,' I suppose - "

"It was already getting less frequent," she confessed. "I saw them less often, you know, as I was getting more - "

She trailed off.

"Lucid?" he guessed.

She nodded. "Though I don't love that word," she said, finding it unsavory. "Makes me sound a bit crazy, don't you think?"

"I'd be surprised if you weren't a bit crazy," Theo said, shrugging. "We all snap. Some of us more than others," he murmured, closing his eyes, and she thought again of the words _we have blood on our hands_ , "and _some_ of us - by which I mean _you_ ," he clarified, cracking one eyelid to look at her, "are trapped with the enemy, and have no way to deal with it."

She hummed her acknowledgement.

"You're awfully sympathetic, you know," she commented offhandedly. "Particularly if you're going to refer to yourself as the enemy."

He uncuffed his sleeve at that, yanking it down, and raised his left wrist for her to glimpse the inside; it never got less haunting, she thought, even after seeing it on Draco's arm.

It never didn't look like death.

"Enemy," he offered flatly, tapping the Mark with a finger. "Idiot," he added, gesturing to himself, with a touch more enthusiasm. "But at the time, I didn't think I had much of a choice. There was Draco, obviously," he said, and she nodded, "and it was the Mark or death, really."

She nodded again. She'd always understood as much, even if the others hadn't.

"Sometimes," Theo ventured quietly, "I wonder why I didn't just run. Just get _out,_ " he said, shaking his head. "And it's fucking stupid, really, because Narcissa - "

He exhaled sharply. "She wanted Draco to leave, and at the time I was so furious," he explained, and she waited. "I was just - _enraged,_ that she would think there was a way out, when it was her - _and_ Lucius," he acknowledged, "and my father, of course - who brought us into this fucking mess. Draco and I wouldn't even have been who we were if not for them."

He paused, the effort of his anger bringing a heated flush to the impassivity of his cheek.

"But now," he continued after a moment. "Now that she's gone, and all that's left is a world that bent so easily to a fucking Dark Lord's wishes, it hardly seems one worth living in."

"Aside from Draco," she guessed, and he turned his head again, watching her reaction.

"For as fucked as he is, I was always a little more broken," he murmured, and she recognized they were talking about something different now. "Maybe because I never wanted this. _My_ father didn't bother taking the time to brainwash me that Lucius managed so devotedly," he said bluntly. "Maybe if he had, I'd have had further to fall - something more than just a mix of apathy and circumstance. Expectation, I guess I should say," he clarified, and then frowned. "In the end, I just did what I was born to do."

"Did?" Hermione echoed faintly, the word tugging clumsily at her hope. "Are you done with that now?"

He shrugged.

"I only ever wanted to survive," he said, sighing deeply. "But now - with _this_ ," he offered, "with you, and this centaur stuff, and whatever Draco's got going - "

"Now you want to live," she interrupted, and watched something flicker appreciatively in his gaze.

There was a moment's pause.

"I'd have said something less stupid, Granger, but yes," he confirmed, and they looked at each other curiously.

"Does that mean," Hermione said slowly, "that you're in?"

"In what?" he asked, closing his eyes again, though she suspected the motion was for show.

"In," she repeated. "For if we decide to - "

There was a loud crack from downstairs and she launched up, listening.

"HERMIONE!"

The voice was loud; _too loud,_ she thought, imagining his voice in her head, the memories of him, the way it was so familiar and still so wrong, so desperate, so sharply strident -

"Is that real?" she whispered, reaching out to grip Theo's wrist. "Is this in my - "

"This is not in your head, Granger," he said sharply, his face turning troublingly pale.

* * *

Potter shoved Draco in a chair in front of the fireplace - the same one Granger had used to steady herself, he thought fancifully - and muttered a spell, binding him to it.

"Wait there," Potter muttered.

"Pleasure," Draco said back, struggling to sit comfortably. " _Love_ to."

Potter ignored him.

"I don't hear her," he said roughly, starting to pace the floor. "If this is a trap, Malfoy, I swear, I won't hesitate to - "

"I don't know what she's doing!" Draco snapped. "It's a big house, Potter, and you called her _name_ , not an _Accio -_ "

"Shut up," Potter snarled, pointing his wand at Draco's face again. "Shut _up -_ "

But then she was there; Draco's heart stilled first, and then promptly stopped, frozen at the way her eyes didn't meet his. They rested, instead, on Potter, on the white knuckles of his shaking hand.

"Harry?" she asked softly, and Potter turned, whipping around.

"What the fuck," Theo said, materializing behind her in the doorway. "What hell on earth doomsday scenario is _this -_ "

" _Expelliarmus_ ," Potter half shouted, ripping Theo's wand from his hand and catching it, beckoning to Granger. "Come here, Hermione," he murmured, his voice softening as he looked at her. "Let's go."

But even Draco could see she was in no way capable of processing the scene before her.

"Harry?" she repeated, taking a dreamlike step towards him, reaching her fingers out like she would brush them against his being, to soothe his aura from afar. "Is it really you?"

"Yes, it's me," he said, a gentleness creaking into his voice; half a sob, Draco noted - _ah, so he hadn't lost the entirety of his soul_ \- and reaching his hand out for hers. "Hermione, I'm so sorry - I'm so, _so_ sorry - "

"Fucking _excuse me_ ," Theo insisted, flailing behind them, "but is there a fucking _reason_ you've got Draco tied up in a chair?"

Her eyes widened, then, and met Draco's; she looked like she might mouth his name, might step towards him, and then -

" _Incarcerous,_ " Potter said quickly, smacking Theo against the wall behind him, and prompting Granger's eyes to widen as she abruptly turned over her shoulder. "Yes," Potter informed Theo sharply, "funnily enough, it's so that he doesn't fucking try to _stop me_. Hermione," he added, softening again as he pleaded with her, "come on. Let's get out of here."

"Harry," she whispered, "what are you doing?"

 _Please,_ Draco thought then, the sensation of it beating perilously inside his chest as he raged against his own stupidity. He'd thought to make his choice, hadn't he? He'd deigned to think _his_ choosing _her_ had been enough - but he'd never thought, he'd never _dreamt_ -

 _She might not choose me,_ he realized, and nearly perished in the thought.

 _Maybe you'll find me,_ she had whispered; _maybe I'm yours,_ he had promised -

"Granger," Draco murmured helplessly. "Where would you be, a step back?"

 _With me,_ he begged her, _with me -_

"Hermione," Potter said gruffly, "let's go."

* * *

She stared at him, at the face she'd seen only hours before - or thought she'd seen - but clearly hadn't. He looked wild, somehow; fearful and frantic, and if she had wanted to touch the devastation in him before - to rid him of it, somehow - it was nothing compared to now; it was nothing compared to the way she wanted to smooth back the months they'd been apart and see the glimmer in his eye, the mischief in them, that had clearly been forced out to make room for his pain.

She wanted to run to him, to hold him, but the wand in his hand gave her pause; once she touched him, he'd disapparate, she knew, and then they would be gone, and she would lose -

"Granger," Draco pleaded quietly behind Harry, "where would you be a step back?"

 _Here,_ she thought, _with you, only sooner -_

 _But it's not a step back,_ her mind argued, _it's here, and it's now, and this is Harry, and -_

 _I am steadfastly with you until the day I die -_

"Hermione," Harry said, his voice a rasp that charged between them, "let's go."

"Harry," she said, and stopped; _are you real,_ her mind begged, _is this real -_

It certainly wasn't, as every other time had been, a laughing curse from her past; she waited to see if Luna would creep out, or Ginny, to make a dream out of the nightmare; _I waited to see you,_ she wanted to say, _I wished and I wanted, but not like this -_

"Not like this," she whispered, and behind her, if Draco could have fallen to his knees, he looked as though he might have.

"Granger," he said again, his grey eyes wider than she'd ever seen them, "I know, I - I know, but - "

 _If you lose, I lose -_

She opened her mouth to say something; to say _anything_ , but then a loud sound erupted behind them; a noise from the fireplace.

"Draco," a voice called, and then a sleek blond head materialized. "Draco, what in Merlin's name are you doing in that chair?"

* * *

Only Draco was visible from the fireplace; he glared at Potter, whom he knew to not be a total idiot. _Undo these,_ Draco demanded silently, _I won't give her up, I swear -_

Potter nodded slowly; he'd already proven he wasn't in a killing mood, and a disruption caused by Lucius would alert his presence. Ultimately, both Potter and Draco understood that he had little choice but to silently remove the ropes that bound Draco to the chair, and then Potter slowly retreated, coming to stand near Granger.

She, Draco was pleased to see, was holding her breath; still well out of Potter's reach, and still not taking his proffered hand, despite his desperate urging. Her own hands were clasped, as though fighting the need to reach for him.

"Father," Draco said, reaching for normalcy as he strode closer to the fireplace. "Just sitting. Theo's in the kitchen," he added conversationally, looking over his shoulder.

"Fucking _love_ the kitchen," Theo contributed loudly, glaring at Potter as he tugged at the restraints on his wrists.

Lucius rolled his eyes. "It's as if you never grow weary of disappointing me," he muttered, but then shook some ash from his shoulders, resuming his purpose for calling. "Draco, you've not said anything about the mudblood or Potter in nearly a week," he said sharply. "Are you making progress or not?"

Behind Draco, Potter stiffened.

"Well, Father, I _had_ sat down to compose an enumerated list of my discoveries," Draco began, "but perhaps it's better to simply let you weep with disappointment."

Lucius frowned, furious. "Draco, I feel I have been very clear - "

"Yes, yes," Draco assured him impassively. "Reputations on the line. Find Potter, or I'm a failure and Granger's dead," he added, a shard of something burying itself in his heart as he said the words. "Incredibly, both my comprehension and my memory remain intact."

Lucius reared up in the fire, looking as though he wished to shout; but gradually, he recoiled, suppressing his temper in favor of continuing his interrogation.

"You said you had found something?" Lucius demanded. "An enemy of hers who might know where to find Potter?"

He heard a rustle behind him, and knew the other three must have been looking accusingly at each other.

"I did," Draco confirmed. "And I'm looking for him."

"And?" Lucius pressed. "My sources are better than yours, Draco, I don't see why you cannot simply - "

"Father, if I fail - which you seem so certain that I will," Draco reminded him, "isn't it best that you stay out of it? Plausible deniability and all that," he added. "I'd hate for you to be involved, you know, should the Dark Lord find me to be as catastrophically ineffective as you do," he finished, with a carefully curated brush of boredom to seal the offensive tone.

"I simply worry, Draco," Lucius said sharply. "Gosforth is hardly brainy, but it's only a matter of time before it comes out - "

"Yes," Draco confirmed. "Time that I am wasting here with you, rather than determining where I can find Potter." He cocked his head to the side, knowingly taunting. "Or would you rather we continue to discuss the things we cannot discuss?"

Lucius grimaced. "The Dark Lord clearly has his suspicions," he said. "I would prepare yourself to soothe them, or else suffer the consequences." He glared at Draco a final time and prepared to retract his head from the fireplace, but paused, peering around the room. "Something seems strange," he commented. "Is there anything I should know?"

Draco pretended to look around the room, careful not to let his gaze fall to sharply on Theo, still restrained against the wall, or on Potter or Granger, who stood uncertainly beside each other, pointedly just out of the other's reach.

"Not a thing," Draco said smoothly, and then Lucius shrugged, disappearing from sight as emerald bits of ash floated to the ground beneath him.

Silence reigned over the space for nearly a full minute; Draco, afraid to look up - afraid to see Granger depart, should that be her choice - kept his eyes on the fireplace.

"Well," Theo managed eventually. "That was a fucking delight."

"You didn't tell him I was here," Potter commented, stepping forward. "I thought I might have to Imperius you, but - "

"Harry," Granger whispered, aghast, but Draco shook his head.

"I don't want you dead, Potter," he said. "And I told you. I don't want to keep you from her." He glanced at her, fixing her with the sincerest look he could manage, and repeated himself. "I don't want to keep you from him," he promised her, though it broke him to do it.

A smile flickered at the curve of her lips.

"And here I thought I was your captive," she murmured, taking the few breathless steps to reach him and falling helplessly at his side.

He opened his arms to her, pulled her into his grasp - _let me amount to nothing but this -_ and sighed into her neck; _mine,_ he swore, and she returned the promise, resting her forehead against his shoulder.

"Listen," Theo trumpeted loudly, "I'm still fucking _stuck to a wall_ \- "

"Hermione," Potter said, nearly a whimper. "What - "

"Give me a minute," she promised him, and then leaned forward, whispering in Draco's ear.

"Once, there was a man who ventured into the woods," she murmured, so that only Draco could hear her. "He fell asleep, pursued by the darkness around him and succumbing to its powers, and awoke to another lifetime, forced to bear the sharp incomprehensibility of change. He was resurrected, in a sense, from wretchedness, but the world was not as he'd seen it when he closed his eyes; and so, with what seemed to him a new, confounding sight, he found himself a stranger, searching desperately to piece together the life he might have lived."

"But while the world had changed around him," she continued, "he remained tormented by things that he'd known, by incarnations he had embodied in the past, and found they did not live so easily within the context of his waking." She looked up, then, her gaze drifting to Potter, who looked paralyzed with indecision; _to grab her and run_ , Draco guessed, _or else to wait and see_ , the alternatives rooting him in place.

"You want me to forgive him," Draco said in her ear. "That's what you want?"

"I want you to _fix_ him," she corrected, and then drew away, coming to her feet.

 _We rise,_ he thought, watching her stand, more hers with every breath; _we always fucking rise._

* * *

 **a/n:** Dedicated to athenalorien for your lovely review. To answer some questions, Part II will still involve the fairytales; this was a short one, but others will be more like previous stories. This little snippet is based on _Rip Van Winkle_ by Washington Irving.


	19. The Dragon, The Hero

**Chapter 19: The Dragon / The Hero**

* * *

 _ **2003**_

* * *

 _Hermione -_

The voice in the room, the blood in her ears, the pain in her spine, the tears on her cheeks -

 _Hermione, now!_

Her eyes snapped open.

The same nightmare. If only she could call it a nightmare and not simply a memory; not simply a series of secrets she'd locked inside her, the last remains of what they'd been, what they'd done, _who they'd loved -_

"You're awake," Harry murmured, running a hand through his hair. He'd lost a considerable amount of weight since the Ministry; she worried about him.

She worried about everything.

"Did I oversleep?" she asked, struggling to sit up."You look - "

"Like shit," he supplied, grinning. "Worse than yesterday - "

"Better than tomorrow," she finished, managing to mirror his smile.

He ducked his head, the smile disappearing into the curve of his hand. "Well," he opened warily. "What shall we do today, you think?"

The same nightmare on an endless loop -

 _Hermione, now!_

 _Harry!_

\- and always waking up alone together.

"The same as always," she murmured. "We keep looking, Harry."

He brought his hand down, curling it around a grimace and then letting it fall into his lap. "You'd think I'd grow out of hoping," he said, his gaze drifting. "Get tired of it or something."

"Nah," Hermione whispered, reaching out to brush an errant hair from his forehead. "I think it's in your bones."

He said nothing for a moment, and she let him. He existed somewhere far away; somewhere in a thought, a wish, a memory - a place she couldn't follow. They each lived in their own haunted cerebrations, condemned to their respective nightmares - their respective ghosts - and the place behind his eyelids was different from hers.

It was the least she could do to let him exist there in relative peace.

"What about _your_ bones?" he asked eventually, returning momentarily to offer her a fleeting glance. "What happens if - "

He took a deep breath, sighing out an exhale. "What happens if I can't do it one morning?" he asked quietly, staring intently at his lap. "What if one of these days I get tired of looking, or I've run out of ideas, or we finally find out that everyone we used to know is - " he sighed. "What if they're all - "

 _Dead,_ she knew he wanted to say; wanted _never_ to say.

"They're not," Hermione admonished him sternly, climbing out of her bed to settle herself beside him, reaching for his hand. "You know they're not, Harry, it would be in the papers, or - "

"It's been a year since the Ministry, Hermione," he reminded her, wilting slightly at the words. "And in that _entire year,_ there hasn't been a single article on anyone."

She hesitated. "Yes," she confirmed uncertainly. "But still, I would think - "

"I'm just saying," Harry interrupted, "I feel like I might be dragging you through this for nothing." He stiffly afforded her an apologetic smile. "I'm the one intent on finding Luna, after all - I'm the one insisting we stay here, but - "

"But nothing," Hermione insisted firmly. "This is my _home_ , Harry - "

"We could make a new home," he suggested, though she wasn't sure he believed it. "We could go somewhere fucking" - he waved a hand outside, to the frozen ground beneath them - "tropical, and just - "

"Live on mai tais and regrets?" Hermione asked wryly.

"Regrets?" Harry echoed skeptically, shaking his head. "Please. You always knew what you were doing." He took a deep breath, the dismantled creak of it rattling around the expanse of his chest. "Every impulsive thing we did, every time we lost somebody, it was always _my fault_ , always _my idea -_ "

She thought of Ginny's vacant brown eyes and winced. "Not true," she murmured, her fingers tightening around his wrist. "Not true at all."

The carefully manufactured expression on his face collapsed, a little broken. "I just," he whispered, "I can't help feeling like I've failed - like I should just give up - " he broke off, shaking his head. "You're the only one left," he muttered, forcing a weak smile across the bow of his lips. "The least I can do is try to be _your_ hero, don't you think?"

"What does that mean?" Hermione sighed, turning his hand palm up to slip her fingers between his.

"It means," Harry said, clearing his throat, "that maybe we should just run away together." He paused, looking at her. "I could make you happy," he offered, a look of concentration on his features like he was reading her reaction. "Couldn't I?"

She blinked. "Romantically?"

He nodded. "Sexually, too. I'm told I have some level of mastery," he offered, shrugging, and she giggled.

"Do you?" she prompted.

"Yes," he confirmed, looking wounded. "Do you not believe me?"

She tilted her head, considering it. "I could see it," she ventured tentatively, feeling her cheeks warm. "But," she added, "you realize you'd have to have sex with _me_."

"I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it already," he threw out offhandedly, squeezing her fingers between his. "And hey," he added. "Who knows. Maybe we'd have cute kids."

"With terrible hair," she reminded him.

"Worse eyesight," he countered, tapping his glasses, and she laughed.

"What do you think they'd be like?" she asked, tracing patterns on the back of his hand. "Our kids."

"Brave," he said firmly. "Smart and fearless."

"I feel like they can't be both," Hermione cautioned with a smile, and Harry shrugged again.

"Still," he insisted, looking dreamily into the future and coaxing it out. "Gryffindors for sure, through and through."

 _You might belong in Gryffindor,_ the sorting hat sang in her mind, _where dwell the brave at heart -_

She stirred, feeling wounded by the memory: _their daring, nerve, and chivalry set Gryffindors apart._

"Would they?" she asked quietly. "And would they be ashamed of us, then, if they knew that we'd run?"

He said nothing; _ghosts_ , she thought, and sighed.

"You know," she added softly, "they wouldn't be Gryffindors. Because they wouldn't go to Hogwarts."

He exhaled deeply, banishing a breath of misery from his lungs. "No," he agreed, his tone soured with an old, resurging bitterness. "No more Hogwarts to go to, is there?"

"Not the one we had," she agreed, leaning her cheek against his shoulder. "Not the way we had it."

He withered for a moment; perishing in her grasp, dissolving to ash before rising again, drawing up to look her in the eye.

"No running away, then," he determined briskly, and she marveled at the deftness of the shift. "Not while the world's like this."

"Not until there are Gryffindors again," she agreed, "and first butterbeers, and first chocolate frogs - "

"First feasts," he contributed. "First times on brooms - "

"Of course, if all goes well, no unfounded rivalries to go with it," Hermione commented, arching a brow. " _And_ fair wages for house elves," she added hopefully, though she could tell he wasn't listening.

"Unfounded rivalries," Harry murmured, letting his thoughts drift. "Was it really so unfounded?"

She thought of Draco Malfoy, of the sorrow in his grey eyes; of the way she sometimes saw him in her sleep. "I think," she began delicately, "things would have been different. If the world had been different," she qualified with a nod, "then yes, I think so."

"I guess we'll have to change the world then," Harry sighed, resting his chin against her head. "Bummer about the mai tais."

She chuckled. "Yeah," she agreed. "Terrible news."

They paused for a moment, sharing space and trading sighs, and then he kissed the top of her head, pulling away to look at her.

"I could be happy with you," he informed her, swallowing fear and disappointment and shoving his sadness forcefully down his throat. "I _would_ be happy with you."

"No you wouldn't," she muttered, her voice muffled against his shirt. "Not _as_ happy," she amended. "I don't make you feel like she does."

Harry closed her eyes at the mention of Luna, softly humming his agreement. "She made me feel invincible," he murmured, and Hermione's heart broke, watching him suffer; watching him thrum with remorse - _you are responsible for more than just destroying a Dark Lord, Harry Potter! -_ and ache in her absence. "It was exhausting, really. In a way. She wanted so much," he explained, cracking one eye to look at her. "Wanted me to _be_ so much. But at the same time - "

"For her, you were," Hermione assured him. "With her, you were everything you wanted to be."

He nodded. She wondered if he were fighting tears.

"Yeah," he croaked. "I - " he broke off. "I can't stop looking," he finished, letting his shoulders fall in resignation.

 _Resignation,_ she thought, _but never defeat -_

"So don't stop," Hermione whispered. "That's what we'll do today," she added, clearing her throat purposefully and sitting up. "We'll keep looking. And it's what we'll do tomorrow, and the next day - "

"And if I give up?" he asked. "If I get tired? If I - "

"You won't," she told him primly, permitting herself the luxury of her foolish, bossy youth. "You're human," she continued, "and you're permitted your moments of doubt, but - " she inhaled sharply. "You don't give up," she reminded him sternly - _you are responsible for giving people hope -_ and took his hand again. "And I will be beside you," she added, "however long it takes."

The look he gave her was a rush of gratitude; a resounding flood of affection.

"You're the only thing I don't think I can do without," he murmured, shaking his head. "It's hard without Luna, and I miss her - I miss her every day, every minute, but _you -_ " He cut himself off, shutting his eyes; she counted three beats of her foolish heart, waiting. "You've always been there," he choked out, "it's always been us, and I can't - "

"I'm always going to be here," she promised, her fingers gripped painfully tight around his. "Always, Harry, until the end."

* * *

 _ **2005 (Present)**_

* * *

"Harry," she whispered, rising to her feet and shifting her attention from Draco to the man before her, to the boy she'd once known. She itched to run to him; ached to hold him. "Harry, put your wand down."

She never imagined he could look like this, wild and nervous and caged. The Boy Who Lived - and lived, and lived, and _lived -_

 _And who must be so tired of surviving_ , she thought, wishing she could smooth her palm along his, rest her head against his shoulder.

Harry swallowed, watching her. "You don't owe him anything, Hermione," he muttered, tossing Draco a venomous look that was, she could tell, helplessly tinged with fear; with loneliness, she realized, and a burdensome sadness. "We can leave, you know, we can just _go_ \- "

"We could," Hermione agreed, taking a careful step towards him. "But he'll die, you know," she murmured, watching the stiff lack of reaction from Harry that told her he'd considered this already, his gaze flicking a second time to Draco as she spoke. "If we leave," she began, and then shook her head, "if _I_ leave - "

"You'll die if you stay," Harry countered, his eyes briefly fluttering shut. "You know he can't protect you," he added, a possessive growl under his breath. Behind her, she heard Draco shift in place, the smallest indication of his stubborn disagreement.

But this moment was not about him.

"Harry James Potter," Hermione said softly, tilting her head. "Who says I need protecting?"

He grimaced at that, at the way she said his name, at the pain of the history she so effortlessly called upon to warm him. "It's not a joke, Hermione - "

"And I'm not joking," she agreed, taking another step. "But what happened to not running away?" she asked, watching his fingers twitch loosely around his wand. "What happened to being people's hope?" she pressed, watching him struggle with indecision.

"Don't," he rasped, taking a step back, and she felt a pang of sympathy for him, watching him try to flee the memory. "Don't use Luna's words on me right now, Hermione, you never believed her - you never wanted me to - "

"You're right," Hermione agreed. "I didn't. But she was right, wasn't she?" She reached out, her fingers poised to brush against his shoulder. "Put your wand down, Harry," she whispered again, waiting for the flicker of warmth in his eyes that she loved; the glimmer of _him_ that had always shone through. "Please."

He hesitated, drawing in a breath and glancing behind her at Draco. "Hermione - "

"He saved my life, Harry," she reminded him breathlessly. "Draco saved me, Harry, and I - "

She cut herself off, closing her eyes as she heard her voice shake, the intangibility - the inexpressibility - of _if you lose, I lose_ catching in her throat. "This isn't about him," she murmured, shaking her head. "Not right now - this is about _you_. I _missed_ you," she confessed, still struggling not to reach for him and then resigning herself to helplessness, her hands limp at her side. "I missed you."

She looked him in the eye, waiting.

He took a breath, it rang between them, and then -

He let his wand fall to the floor and she breathed out months of turmoil, running to him and wrapping her arms around his neck. "Harry," she sighed in his ear, rejoicing in the contact, in the way he slumped forward, permitting a weary moment of rest as his head fell against her shoulder. "Harry, I missed you - "

"Hermione," he said into her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her and clinging to her; he was even thinner now than she remembered and together they were like a clash of bone, a blunted clang of blades. "Hermione, I'm so sorry - I'm so sorry - "

"Don't be," she breathed, "it wasn't your fault, and we're here now." She shut her eyes, pausing to accommodate a breathless burst of gratitude to the universe, to the fates, to the mercy of the furies, to the ears of Fortune herself. "We're here now, Harry - "

There was a clatter behind them and she turned, alarmed; she was relieved, albeit curious, to see that Draco had wandered over to Theo and was now guiltily brandishing what appeared to be a large ceremonial silver knife against the bonds of his restraints.

"Oops," Draco muttered.

"Ah, apologies," Theo offered drily, tipping an imaginary hat. "Didn't want to ruin the moment."

"Are you trying to sever an _Incarcerous_ with a letter opener?" Hermione asked, squinting at the object in Draco's hand.

Draco shrugged. "It's a Black artifact, you never know," he said, gesturing around the house. " _All_ this shit is cursed as hell - "

"Of course," Theo interrupted loudly, "now that the moment is already ruined beyond all possible belief - "

He gestured suggestively to Harry, who sighed.

"You trust him?" Harry murmured in Hermione's ear. "You're sure?"

Hermione smiled. "I trust both of them," she assured him, and Harry nodded slowly, pulling their wands out of his pocket with a somewhat belabored sigh.

"Eh, would you look at that," Theo commented, glancing smugly down at Draco. "Granger and I are friends now." He preened awkwardly against the wall. "She _trusts_ me, Draco - "

"Lovely," Draco muttered. "Fantastic."

"Also, just so I don't forget to do this later - I fucking _knew it_ ," Theo added, making a face. "You lying fuckstick."

"Feel free to just leave him there," Draco announced loudly, stepping pointedly away, but Harry had already picked up his wand, freeing Theo and permitting him to crash to a heap on the floor. "That works too," Draco said, sniffing affectedly until Harry promptly tossed his wand into his face. "Fucking _ouch -_ "

"Harry," Hermione scolded, fighting a laugh as Theo struggled to his feet only to receive his own wand being thrown in his face, " _honestly -_ "

"They have their wands now," Harry grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. "What next?"

"What next?" Hermione asked, feeling dazed. _I want you to fix him,_ she had said to Draco, and that she intended to do; but beyond that, "I mean - I hadn't actually - "

"Well, to sum up," Theo said, lifting a finger into the air as he stood, "we have the most wanted criminal of all time in the room - "

"Criminal," Harry echoed, the muscle twitching furiously around his jaw. "Really, Nott?"

"Look, a spade's a spade," Theo retorted. "Just because they're _bad laws_ doesn't mean you didn't still _break_ them - "

"Well fucking _thank you,_ Nott," Harry snarled, rounding on him, "for your unparalleled sensitivity on the matter - "

"Granger," Draco murmured, his fingers comfortingly brushing hers as he suddenly appeared at her side, "can I talk to you?"

"No!" Theo and Harry shouted in unison, turning to glare at him.

"I'm not letting her out of my sight again," Harry warned, striding forward to point a menacing finger at Draco's face. "Don't you think for a fucking _second_ , Malfoy - "

"Yes, and on a _less_ completely unhinged note," Theo interrupted loudly, "priority right now is to decide what the fuck to do with the deranged man that's waltzed so gracelessly into your home - "

"I hope you mean _you_ , Nott," Harry cut in with a scowl.

"I am _charismatic_ , not deranged," Theo countered silkily. "You, on the other hand, are fucking certifiable - "

"QUIET!" Draco bellowed, startling Hermione as his fingers suddenly tightened around her hand; he shifted to glance at her, his grey eyes wide with worry. "Did you hear that?" he asked, softening as he looked at her.

She strained to listen; a nearly indistinct knocking sound echoed through the hall as Theo and Harry exchanged sour glances.

"Door," she realized breathlessly, glancing fearfully at Draco. "Who is it?"

"Nobody good," he murmured, looking uneasy.

* * *

 _Watch her,_ he mouthed to Theo, squeezing her hand once before striding to the door. Nobody had ever used it; only Theo knew about the portkey in the mailbox, and nobody who came to visit ever used the front door -

"Who is it?" he called, glancing through the fish-eyed lens. "Is that - "

He yanked the door open. "Smith?" he demanded, staring at him, as a cough drew his attention downwards.

"Mr Malfoy," Paul the house elf squeaked, inclining his head. "Mistress is wanting Paul to deliver this" - he paused, glancing at Smith beside him, whose eyes were glassy and vacant - " _thing,_ " he determined with a nod, "for yous."

"Where's Pansy?" Draco asked, narrowing his eyes as Smith clumsily raised a hand to rub it in a wide, sweeping arc across his face. "And how did you - "

"Mistress is needing this thing out of the house," Paul sniffed. "Mistress is having to entertain the Master," he added, with an undisguised shiver.

"Mulciber, you mean?" Draco asked, frowning. Smith swatted lazily at a fly that attempted to land on his face, gripping wearily at it and grinning absentmindedly as it swooped between his fingers.

"No," Paul whispered, his ears twitching as he glanced down.

Draco frowned. "The Master," he repeated, and then felt himself go pale. "You don't mean that the Dark Lo- "

"Is that Smith?" he heard in his ear. "That cocksucking son of a - "

"Would you get inside?" Draco muttered, backhanding Potter's invisible form from where he stood under his cloak. "For _fuck's sake,_ have you lost your mind?"

"Did he say You-Know-Who?" Potter breathed in his ear, prompting Draco to blindly smack him again. "And how did you - "

"Look," Draco said loudly, "Paul - " He struggled for a moment to shove Potter inside the house and then pulled the door behind him, watching the elf's eyes travel skeptically between where he stood and where Potter's cloaked form had been. "What's going on with Pansy?"

"Paul is not having liberties to tell," Paul croaked. "It is needingless to say that Paul is here to deliver this thing," he babbled, "with strict instructions from Mistress not to be seen - "

"How did you get here?" Draco asked, looking around the landing. "This isn't exactly public access, you know - "

"Paul has been a loyal elf for many years," Paul said smugly. "Paul is not having troubles finding Mr Malfoy's _front door -_ " he paused, his ears twitching to hone in on something Draco couldn't hear. "Mistress is very distressed," Paul determined, looking worried. "Is leaving now, Mr Malfoy - "

And with a pop, he was gone.

"Well," Potter muttered in his ear. "Bring Smith _inside_ , Malfoy, what exactly are you - "

"Will you _stop_?" Draco demanded, elbowing him in the nose and then dragging Smith through the door, lamenting internally that his morning in Granger's arms suddenly felt woefully far away.

* * *

She wasn't ready to see him; despite the shocks she'd gone through that day, she had yet to suffer anything as visceral as the rage that filled her at seeing Zacharias Smith's face again.

"You," she seethed, clenching a fist for Harry, for Draco, for _herself_ -

"Hello," Zacharias replied cheerily as Draco slammed him into a chair. "And you are?"

"Ah," Theo muttered, shaking his head. "I see the obliviation stuck."

"What the fuck did you want Smith for?" Harry asked, tearing the cloak from his shoulders and reappearing on Zacharias' other side. "He doesn't know anything."

"Do you?" Draco asked Zacharias gruffly, his grip tight on the other man's shoulder. "Do you know who you are?"

Hermione glimpsed the iron coldness in Draco's gaze, the careless ease of his physical intimidation and fought a shudder, suddenly remembering he was a Death Eater; suddenly remembering what he must have done to earn the title.

"Nope," Zacharias returned giddily. "Was in the forest getting ouchies from the horses - "

"Remind me never to ask," Theo said, his face contorting in a grimace.

"Saw a girl," Zacharias continued, "then a small treasure troll - "

"Elf," Draco sighed, glancing at Theo. "Paul," he supplied.

"Paul?" Zacharias snorted vacantly. "What an idiotic name."

"The elf's name is Paul?" Hermione asked, and Draco shook his head.

"We really don't have time to get into it," Theo said, leaning forward to pat her shoulder briskly.

"Well what use is he _now_?" Harry asked, stepping forward.

"I'm not sure," Draco replied slowly, not taking his eyes from the glassy expression on Zacharias' face. "I mean," he clarified, straightening, "there _is_ still the question of why he went to France - "

"Which he can't actually help you with," Harry said, pointing to Zacharias as he stuck his tongue out, seeming to have discovered it for the first time.

"Unless you reverse the obliviation," Hermione suggested tentatively, and Draco nodded.

"There's also the small issue that everyone is looking for him," Draco contributed uneasily. "So having him wander around isn't exactly _ideal -_ "

"Fine," Harry said, flicking his wrist carelessly. "So _Imperius_ him, then."

"Harry," Hermione said in disbelief. "That's _twice_ today - "

"Potter," Theo barked, shaking his head, "what is your _deal?"_

"Well, wait," Draco interrupted, looking thoughtful. "He's not wrong."

"You see that?" Harry asked, gesturing. "Malfoy thinks I'm not wrong." He paused. "I might be wrong, then," he muttered hoarsely, looking conflicted.

"Obviously," Draco sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing apologetically at Hermione, "resorting to an _Imperius_ is not ideal. But it's better than killing him, isn't it?"

"Oh, good argument, Draco," Theo said, applauding quietly. "Well crafted."

"I just," Draco groaned in frustration, "I _meant_ \- "

"Who are we killing?" Zacharias asked, looking around the room before exhaustedly letting his head loll to the side. Draco, in response, wordlessly brought a hand up, massaging the bridge of his nose.

"He's a human sock puppet," Hermione ruled with a heavy sigh, swallowing as she stared at Zacharias. "He's - we can't possibly - "

She looked up at Draco, registering for the first time that he looked exhausted beyond belief; he had bent his head, his eyes glued to the floor, his shoulders sloping forward.

 _A reluctant hero,_ she thought sorrowfully, _is a hero still -_

"Draco," she murmured, reaching out a hand for him. "Come here."

"Hermione," Harry said, looking vaguely injured, "I think we should probably - "

"I just need a minute," she said, glancing reassuringly at him. "Really."

"Just a minute?" Draco said to her, materializing at her side.

She inhaled a cool breath of him; the stillness that meant he was _there_ , that he was _real_ , that he was _hers_ -

"For now," she whispered, taking his hand.

* * *

She pulled him into the hallway, blissfully out of sight, and he breathed in the smell of her hair; the mystifying calmness of her, the incomprehensible continuity of her existence even as he, had he borne the weight she'd been fated for, might have - _would have,_ his mind corrected him, surly in its disapproval - collapsed.

"This is hard," she told him softly. "I know."

He buried his face in her shoulder, his shame of discovering that she'd come face to face with her demons, her torments, a man she might love more than him -

 _A man she might actually love_ , his mind taunted cruelly -

\- and still thought of him. Of his struggles; of _his_ pain.

"Nevermind me," Draco said gruffly, wrapping his arms around her; he held her tightly - so tightly he wondered if she could breathe - but she made no complaint and so he did not let go, did not relent, did not permit even the ambition of an errant sigh to part them. "It's _you_ I'm worried about - "

"You could have given him up," she whispered, reaching up to bury her fingers in the strands of his hair. "Your father was right there, it would have been easy - "

"Easy?" Draco echoed in disbelief. "Granger, I couldn't give him up without giving _you_ up, and if you think that's easy - "

He swallowed. _If you lose, I lose -_

"It wasn't just for me," she told him. "I could tell, it wasn't just about me - "

He shut his eyes. _Everything is about you,_ he tried not to tell her. _Even when it isn't, it comes down to you -_

He was surprised to discover that in the midst of his silent pause, she had felt it necessary, somehow, to kiss him; he felt her grip on him tighten - _mine mine mine_ \- and felt himself answer, his hips against hers - _please please please -_

"I need to be alone with him," she said against his lips, breathing it apologetically into his mouth. "Just for a while."

He nodded, trying to understand; trying to _understand -_

"You and Potter," Draco said, the struggle of it ricocheting around in his head, "you didn't - you don't - "

"The day I kissed you," she told him, and he felt the brush of it again, the jolt of it, renewing along the tendrils of his memory. "I hadn't - I'd never - " she broke off, bringing her fingers to her lips like she was experiencing it anew. "There've been others before you," she confessed. "But - "

She moved the tips of her fingers from her lips to his, her eyes wide as she traced the shape of them.

 _Inevitability,_ he thought helplessly, _and punishment -_

"Nothing like you," she murmured. "Never like you."

He hung his head, pressing his forehead gratefully to hers. "Not what I asked," he informed her at a whisper, and she let out a breathy laugh.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "Nothing with me and Harry. But I love him," she said simply. "He's - I'll do anything for him." She glanced up and he felt the warmth of her, the glow, and fought not to stare. "But I need you to understand," she whispered, "that what _you_ are - "

She rested her hand over his heart, over his pulse, the sum of his being throbbing beneath her fingers as her tongue slid across her lip. "You," she said simply, and he thought he felt it, thought he understood.

 _You,_ she said, and he heard _maybe you'll find me -_

"You," he agreed, and she glanced up, smiling.

Somehow that was enough; it was everything in a word, he realized, an oath in a single breath, a comfort and a torment, _inevitability and punishment -_

"Do you want a bedtime story?" she whispered playfully, smoothing her fingers along the line of his collarbone as her lips brushed his shoulder. She pressed a kiss through the fabric and then slid her lips along his neck, his life fitted so effortlessly between her teeth.

"No," he muttered stubbornly, closing his eyes. "Not if it means you'll leave."

"Ah," she said sagely, and he felt her smile against his skin. "Then I have just the one."

"Fine," he sighed, shivering as her lips reached his jaw. "Tell me, then."

"Once," she began, "there was a terrible beast. Or so he appeared," she warned, and he gathered her in his arms, pressing her against the wall and lifting her, finding the gaping of her shirt to press his lips against the smooth center of her chest. "He acquired a young woman and brought her to live in his castle with him - "

"I don't like how familiar this sounds," Draco muttered, scraping his teeth against her clavicle. She reached back to take hold of his hair, yanking his head up to look at her. _Listen,_ she silently scolded, and he fought a smile.

"The castle was part summer and part winter," she continued, "part boundless joy, part suffocating misery - but after giving the girl everything she desired, she became fond of the beast," she said, the quietness of her voice belying the distressing fortitude with which she held him, the strength of her grasp and the surety of her command. "She was dear to him, and he was good to her, and she found that she came to lo- "

She stopped, her breath catching in her throat; he, with his lips against her neck, thought he might have captured it.

She cleared her throat. "Her brother fell ill," she said, glossing over the words she might have said, the things she might have confessed, "and she wished to see him. The beast, still wishing for her happiness, granted her permission to return to him; for he had seen her grief, and he had suffered with her for it, and could not deny her her hope."

"He asked her to return, and so she did, but her loyalty to her brother was so great that she could not return straightaway to her beast," she said, releasing her hold on him to run a finger over his cheek, tracing it. "And when she returned to the castle, she learned that summer had fled from its magic, and that only winter remained. She ran, searching for him, and came upon him lying still in the garden."

"She feared she had lost him," she murmured sorrowfully, "and cursed herself for her absence, bending in her grief to kiss his lips and confess the secrets of her heart - "

He cut her off, kissing her himself to prove _it won't be the last, never the last -_

"And he was renewed," she managed against his lips, "and brought to life, and they were never parted - "

He kissed her again - _again,_ and then _again -_ and she pulled him closer, a stunning, beatific need, elation and devolution passing between them, summer and winter, life and death -

 _The day boy and the night girl -_

It was more a sharpened burden than it had ever been, an added layer to the trauma; that unlike day and night, or light and dark, the two of them would have to exist outside the intangible polarities to which they belonged. That the girl only in the night could still owe some blissful cadence of her heart to another, that her choice might be _light_ but was it ever really _day -_

Was it ever really _him_ -

"So do I have to die in this scenario?" he asked breathlessly. "I might, you know," he added, letting her slip down to her feet as he pressed his hands against the wall, releasing her.

"It's the return that's the crux of it," she told him, slipping an arm around his neck as he drowned in the memory of her, of _maybe you'll find me -_

Of what he knew and what he feared; _am I made for you, then?_

"You would come back, then," he said. "You promise?"

 _Maybe you'll find me -_

"Isn't that your promise to make to me?" she asked.

 _Come back to me safe, come back to me whole -_

"What are we really saying?" he pleaded.

 _Maybe I'm yours -_

For a moment she looked about as terrified as he felt; and then she softened, a smile painting itself over her lips.

 _Mine._

"Some things," she whispered, "always find their way back."

He kissed her again -

 _Today_

 _Together_

 _We rise_

\- and they took a step, balanced on the razor-edge of horizon.

* * *

"So," Hermione said, settling herself across from him on her bed, trying not to think about the times he'd done this before; remembering with a jolt that _this time was real._ She reached out, running her fingers over the wiry dark hair of his beard. "You look - "

"Like shit," Harry muttered back. "Worse than yesterday."

She smiled. "Better than tomorrow?" she asked, and then promptly shook her head. "No," she murmured, cutting herself off; the routine had to change. "Tomorrow's new and different."

She watched hope spark in his eye; watched it sputter and extinguish, too tired to flame.

"The beard's not so bad," Harry commented offhandedly, reaching up to tug at it. "Keeps my face warm."

"Just gave up, did you?" she asked, patting his knee.

He closed a hand over hers, stilling it. "No," he said. "I never gave up on you."

 _Always, Harry, until the end -_

She shut her eyes. "No," she agreed. "You kept me alive, you know."

"So did you," he said. "It was you I saw, when things were - "

He trailed off; she, in a flood of inadvisable warmth, suddenly felt less crazy.

"How did you get away?" she asked, changing the subject. "From Zacharias, I mean. How did you - "

"Pure physicality," Harry said solemnly. "Brute force, et cetera."

She gave him a nudge. "Really," she said, and he grimaced.

"Really," he confirmed. "Well, maybe not _brute_ force, but honestly, you probably did save my life. The adrenaline, you know," he explained, and she nodded. "It was one thing when it was just me and the branch in my leg, but then I saw them come after you and I just - " he shook his head. "I lost it. Nearly tore him limb from limb."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Harry," she said dubiously.

He grinned, a rare glimpse of him showing through. "It was more of a hiding situation," he conceded, "but I did get a few good shots in. Knocked him down hard enough after the _Portus_ to eventually get out the cloak and stun him from where he couldn't see, at least." He sobered quickly, looking at where his hand covered hers. "I tried," he said. "I tried so hard to get back to you, but I - "

"Don't," she said quickly. "I - I'm just glad." She bit her lip. "I'm just - I couldn't believe it. I thought you were dead, I thought everyone was gone, I thought - "

"I was so afraid for you," Harry whispered. "I know you always say you don't need protecting, but - " His voice wrenched painfully and he shut his eyes. "But I was so afraid that - "

"He did me a favor, in the end," Hermione said; a thing she'd tried desperately not to think about, but that suddenly felt unavoidable. "You-Know-Who, I mean," she clarified, taking a shaky breath. "He made sure everyone forgot us, and they did." She paused, remembering; first the lines in the floor, the hollow emptiness, and then her glimpse of Draco in the darkened room, the glow of him, the sun-drenched benediction. "Well," she qualified, as a helpless moment of relief stole a sigh of thankfulness from her, " _almost_ everyone."

Harry looked up then, considering her. "So," he said carefully, reading into the curve of her lips. "Malfoy, then?"

She waited for him to make a face, to show his displeasure; he didn't.

"Remember all the stories I've told you of the princesses and the dragons?" she asked quietly. "The damsels, the heroes, the monsters - "

"Of course," Harry said, nodding. "Not that you're a damsel," he assured her quickly. "And I suppose I'm not much of a hero," he added with a grimace. She shook her head, wrapping an arm around his waist and resting her head against his shoulder.

"You _are_ a hero," she murmured, "and I was a damsel, too - "

"And him?" Harry prompted, leaning against her. "Your monster?"

She paused, thinking of him; of the light reflecting from his edges. "Turns out," she said tentatively, clearing her throat, "the princess wants the dragon."

To her surprise, Harry chuckled. "Imagine it," he suggested. "The prince appears, sword drawn, mighty in his armor - "

"And she says no thank you," Hermione laughed, "I'll stay, I think."

"Perseus comes to rescue Andromeda," Harry continued grandly, sweeping his free hand in a wide arc. "And says to her 'I have come, Princess, so that no longer should your innards be threatened,' and she says 'but I like it' - "

"He's fortunately not intent on consuming me as a sacrifice to Poseidon," Hermione sighed. "Though, sadly, the parallel isn't entirely off base."

"I learned from the best," he told her, and she smiled.

A few moments passed between them; time was sleepy, sluggish, and she let it settle around her, the seconds melting into her skin.

"He's not a monster, you know," she said softly. "Draco, he's - "

"I know," Harry said, nodding slowly. "I know."

She thought he did; she thought she'd seen something. Remembered, then, that the two of them had seen each other in her absence; that in the end, they each knew what the other was made of -

 _That maybe,_ she thought hopefully, _dragons and heroes aren't so different after all._

"Well," Hermione said, eventually stirring from her reverie. "What should we do tomorrow?"

Harry's darkened green eyes seemed to still, focusing on her face. "We do what you said, Hermione," he told her, reaching up to touch her cheek. "We keep looking."

 _Resigned_ , she thought, _but never defeated_ \- dissolving to ash, but then -

"We rise," she whispered into the palm of his hand.

He nodded. "We always fucking rise," he said.

* * *

"I knew it," Theo trumpeted, "I _fucking_ knew it - "

"Please stop," Draco sighed, checking Smith's wrists and ankles. "Does this hurt?" he asked gruffly, tugging on the restraints.

"Tickles, a bit," Smith said, looking hazily delighted. "What's it for?"

"So you don't escape and get us all killed," Draco informed him.

"Killed!" Smith chuckled. "Charmed, I'm sure."

"That's not the phrase," Theo commented, propping his feet up atop Draco's desk.

"Ah, when in Rome," Smith agreed sagely.

"Not that either," Theo said, frowning.

"Two birds!" Smith chirped, his head promptly falling backwards as Draco silently flicked his wand, cast a lazy _Stupefy._

"Yes," Theo said into his glass, "a very good call."

"Is this better?" Draco muttered, staring at Smith and shaking his head. "Is it an improvement on his personality? I don't even - "

"Well, back to you fucking Granger," Theo interrupted, slamming the glass down. "Which, again, is a thing that I _knew_ \- "

"I'm not fucking her," Draco said, picking up the glass from the desk to finish the last of the firewhiskey, grimacing as it went down.

"You _are_ though," Theo countered. "I have it on _good authority -_ "

"I'm not fucking her," Draco repeated, replacing the glass and crossing his arms over his chest.

" _Are,_ " Theo shouted.

"Am not," Draco sighed brusquely. "It's - " he hesitated. "That's not what it is."

Theo paused, nearly tipping backwards in the chair before planting his feet on the ground. "Wait," he said loudly. "So it's - " He squinted at Draco. "So _you_ \- "

There was a loud tapping sound at the window and Draco let out a frustrated groan, walking over to the owl that perched, waiting, on the ledge.

"Must be my father," he muttered, tossing the owl a small biscuit and opening the note. "I swear, he's so inexplicably torn between openly despising me and secretly pining to know the entirety of my movements - "

"Ah, Lucius," Theo said, pouring himself another glass. "A gentleman and a scholar."

"Oh no," Draco said, recognizing the handwriting. "Oh, fuck."

 _Draco - come now and come alone. DO NOT FLOO. Take a broom if you have to. I'm going to have to trade you a secret for a secret._

"Well, lovely," Theo remarked grimly, glancing over his shoulder to read the note. "You have to admit, though," he added, chuckling into his glass, "the lady really does have style."

* * *

 **a/n:** I'm back, she announces loudly, disrupting many birds. Updates should sort of normalize for a bit (before I leave again for about a week in February) but the plot should pick up quickly. The story told by Hermione to Draco is _The Summer and Winter Garden_ by the Brothers Grimm, and the story between Harry and Hermione is the Greek myth of Perseus and Andromeda. This chapter dedicated to my love goldensnitch18!


	20. The Sweetness Underneath

**Chapter 20: The Sweetness Underneath**

* * *

 _ **2000**_

* * *

He felt Theo's hand on his shoulder but didn't look up.

"Fuck," Theo muttered.

It was a somewhat rare occasion in which Draco was gratified that Theo never felt compelled to behave like any rational human being. For one thing, Draco was comfortably certain that if he heard _so sorry for your loss_ or _such a gifted witch_ or _and to think, she hardly showed signs_ one more time his knees would likely collapse beneath him; and for another, Theo's language, however predictable it was, was at least one he fluently spoke.

"Yeah," Draco replied, swallowing. He shut his eyes, passing his tongue over the cracks in his lips as he stared at the portrait of his mother, her smile drawn and mournful and - as was all that mattered at the moment - no longer to exist outside of oils and gilded frames. "Yeah, exactly."

Theo shifted, stepping in closer.

"I heard," he said neutrally, clearing his throat, "your houseguest has gone elsewhere."

Draco glanced up, catching Lucius' wary eye on him, and nodded slowly.

"Yeah," Draco muttered again, treading carefully. "He's been avoiding the Manor for months. It's not much of a surprise."

"Afraid he'd catch mortality?" Theo supplied, grimacing, and Draco nodded slowly.

"Yes, actually," Draco confirmed, his voice clipped. "Watching her deteriorate was getting to be" - he sucked in a breath, shaking his head - " _too much_ for him, I think."

"Well," Theo sighed, "in fairness, what is the point of being a Dark Lord if you can't just transfer from one ancient palatial estate to another at a whim?" He shrugged. "And I suppose it's not really much of a loss."

"It isn't," Draco agreed, "though I'm not sure - "

He trailed off. Theo's grip on his shoulder tightened reassuringly.

"The Black properties," Draco offered; it was an ambiguous explanation, but he didn't particularly want to finish the sentence, as it would undoubtedly involve words like _bequests_ and _inheritance_ and _only surviving heir -_

"Yours now?" Theo prompted, oddly clairvoyant, and Draco nodded.

"Yes," he said. "And I was thinking - "

"Makes sense," Theo agreed, following Draco's train of thought and nodding. "I'd go, if I were you," he added quietly, glancing up at where his father stood beside Lucius. The elder Nott was stony-faced, his hands crossed as he gripped his cane, staring blankly at the casket; it was less any plausible sympathy, Draco knew, than simply expectation, though it was hard to hold that against him. The Death Eaters were no fraternal bond, after all; they were organized around a purpose - a _master_ \- rather than each other.

Something Lucius had certainly made clear early on.

"There's a townhouse in London," Draco said, turning to Theo. "It's pretty big, too. Maybe you could - "

"Can't," Theo said tartly, still watching the elder Nott. "Would like to," he said, his green eyes flicking soberly to Draco, "but - "

"I get it," Draco said, his gaze falling again on their fathers, on the men they resembled so fully and had managed so thoroughly to disappoint, trapped in service they were never suited for.

Nor would they have chosen it, Draco considered tentatively, had they known; had they been able to foresee that all would remain was an impenetrable darkness, an unwavering servitude, a crushing sense of loss -

 _And to think_ , Draco thought morosely, _that's what winning feels like._

"She wanted me to get out," Draco remarked tangentially, and from her portrait, Narcissa's smile fell sadly, burdened with disappointment as he struggled to meet her eye. "She told me it didn't have to be this way for me," he added, wanting to laugh but suspecting the motion would choke him.

"Funny she would say that," Theo remarked grimly, glancing at her image. "Makes you wonder what they thought they were doing with us."

Draco curled a hand around his mouth, knowing that if he spoke, he would sob. Theo, catching this, swallowed with difficulty, abruptly changing the subject.

"I hear Rabastan's to be rewarded heftily," Theo remarked, the first thought to reach his somewhat directionless grasp, and then soured. "As if the pretty young wife wasn't enough."

It took a moment, but in the midst of distraction the pain in Draco's throat slowly ebbed.

"Depends what you consider reward," he managed hoarsely. "In terms of his priorities - "

"The opportunity to house his master?" Theo muttered. "Fucking _fortune incarnate_ for Rabastan, and Rodolphus too - "

It _was_ , Draco knew, and ultimately fortunate for him, too; to not be forced to live under the shadow of the Dark Lord's constant displeasure any longer. _How very fortunate_ , he thought grimly, that Narcissa's passing meant the Dark Lord, too, would leave.

"I suppose I should be glad in some way," Draco said tightly, "shouldn't I? We got lucky," he added, closing his eyes. "Didn't we?"

"Compared to some," Theo agreed, as gently as he could manage. "Though I'm not sure that's how luck works."

"Maybe that's the _only_ way it works," Draco ground out, and even he could hear the strain of misery in his voice. "Look at us, the _heroes_ ," he muttered bitterly, sweeping an arm out and feeling his breath come sharply, "fucking _behold_ the victors - "

"Draco," Theo said, turning him, pulling him into a rare embrace and saying nothing, his fingers twisted tightly to grip the fabric of Draco's dark cloak, holding on. _Holding him up_ , Draco thought, staggering slightly, as Theo did not budge. "You're not too privileged to suffer," he murmured in Draco's ear. "No part of this is meant to be easier, or to hurt less," he said quietly, "just because you had the fucking audacity to _stay alive_."

Draco bent his head against Theo's shoulder, knowing he had seconds to collect himself; he was sure his father was watching, was catching weakness in the corner of his eye and stiffening, the corners of his lips tightening in disapproval.

Lucius was better at it, Draco knew, than he was; better at standing when the world forced him to his knees. Draco was of less evolved materials, living off the ghosts of his father's choices, wanting to sob for his mother and for himself; a child in every sense of the term, and weaker than both the dark-haired man who held him and the pale-haired man that watched from afar.

 _Stand up,_ Draco told himself, _stand or collapse, but choose one -_

He stepped away from Theo, forcing down the ache in his chest and turning his back on his mother's portrait to point himself away.

"Meeting," Draco choked out. "In an hour, right?"

Theo looked as though he wanted to say something - to make another stab at comfort - but thought better of it, opening his mouth and then closing it, nodding slowly. "An hour," he confirmed, and hesitated, leaning into the compulsions of his more considerate nature. "Is there something - "

"I need a drink," Draco croaked stiffly, and Theo nodded, Lucius' hawk-eyed gaze following the slope of his son's shoulders as he forced himself to walk away.

* * *

 _ **Present (2005)**_

* * *

Draco landed smoothly - with a practiced air of certainty - onto the manicured landscape of the Mulciber estate, his footsteps padding softly across the sodden ground as he gripped his broom in one hand, headed for the door. There was a soft pop in the air beside him and then he was joined, with a tempered sigh of predictability, by Paul the house elf.

"This had better be important," Draco muttered, and Paul buzzed his indignant agreement.

"Mistress is next to herselves," Paul chattered fretfully, his ears falling forward and drooping in an oddly gloomy hysteria. "Utterly _next to -_ "

"Beside herself, you mean?" Draco asked, shaking his head. "She'd better be," he muttered, "because I've got a fucking disaster brewing back at - "

He stopped, cutting off promptly as Paul eyed him a little too curiously; an elf this loyal to Pansy was probably not the ideal sympathetic ear, Draco decided, and so he cleared his throat, refocusing the conversation.

"Where is she?" he asked, and with that, Paul nodded curtly and reached out, tugging the cuff of Draco's shirt and apparating them inside what appeared to be Mulciber's study, squeaking "Mistress" before promptly disappearing again.

The room was dimly lit, the bookshelves covered with the Dark Lord's approved paraphernalia, but the air was stale and the space itself obviously underused. In the corner of the room, near a grandly oversized desk not unlike Lucius' desk at the Manor, Pansy stood stiffly, her shoulders tense as she looked at something Draco couldn't see before raising her chin at the sound of his arrival.

"Draco," Pansy said instantly, turning over her shoulder to face him and keeping her voice hushed. " _Finally_ \- "

"I had a situation," he supplied curtly, looking around; nobody else seemed to be home, he noted, or if they were, they were sleeping. "What's going on? I don't have a lot of - "

"Draco," a voice said softly, and after a warning look from Pansy, Draco peered around her narrow form to the darkened corner of the room, catching sight of a pale, thin Daphne Greengrass.

 _Formerly_ Greengrass, Draco remembered painfully, wincing as he recalled who she was now; at the sight of her, a wave of remorse - of _we got lucky, didn't we?_ \- flooded through him and he inhaled with a painful sharpness, recalling just how much he'd pushed out of his mind so as not to be destroyed by what had become of the others.

 _Cursed from birth,_ he thought, _and we taught ourselves to hide,_ but that hadn't gone as well for _them_ , for the people he'd known but couldn't save, for the friends he'd once had, for the aching fact that what had once been a reprieve for him had meant that _she had to_ -

"I'm sorry," he said instantly, a reflex he couldn't prevent as he moved towards her. He noticed she was shaking - thought for a moment she must have been crying - and tentatively reached out. "I just - I'm - "

"Draco," Pansy pronounced sharply, eyeing him, "what the fuck are you doing?"

"I knew how bad it was," he stammered, still looking at Daphne. "I _knew_ , and I could have - I should have - "

Daphne Lestrange looked up at him, forcing a smile. "It's fine, Draco," she said, though he caught sight of her fingers tightening around Pansy's. "It's - well," she said, sagging a little, "it's sort of - it's why I - "

"Listen," Pansy interrupted, taking control. She tucked Daphne protectively behind her, facing Draco with the fiercest look of urgency that he had ever seen her wear; a look that told him that under no uncertain terms were they to indulge the games between them tonight. "There's a reason I called you here, and I don't have a lot of time - "

She looked hesitantly over her shoulder at Daphne, softening as their eyes met. "I told you you could keep your secrets," she murmured to him, still looking at Daphne before glancing back at Draco; he frowned, wondering what had happened. "Now I need you to keep one of mine."

 _A lot of people have it worse,_ Draco suddenly remembered her saying; suddenly recalled the words _since when have you gotten discreet?_

"What is it?" Draco said, glancing between them. "Does this have anything to do with why the Dark Lord was - "

"I killed my husband," Daphne interrupted, swallowing. "I killed Rabastan. That's why the Dark Lord was here."

"Wait," Draco said hazily, blinking. "I - what - you - "

"He came home from something, some mindless errand for the Dark Lord," Daphne whispered. "But we were alone, and I - I killed him _,_ and I left him behind and I ran." She stopped, looking haunted, her hazel eyes going glassy and vacant as the episode must have played in her mind. "I murdered him," she whispered, her brain seeming to snag, "I _murdered my husband_ \- "

"He was cruel," Pansy supplied furiously, as Daphne seemed to sag and Draco stared, gaping at them both. "He was cruel to begin with, and he was fucked up from Azkaban and he was - he - what he did to her - "

Pansy broke off, choking, appearing to be on the brink of tears before taking strength from a long look at Daphne, drawing her shoulders back with a nod. "He deserved it," Pansy finished stiffly, with all the bossy, inarguable intention she'd always wielded, "but now _we_ need to hide Daphne."

"We," Draco repeated vacantly, his gaze flicking between them before the meaning of the word settled in. "You mean - " he stammered, his heart pounding mercilessly as he drew moisture to his throat. "You fucking want _me_ to take her?" he demanded, thinking instantly of Hermione - of fucking _Harry Potter -_ of the people in his house he couldn't afford to lose or endanger by bringing a renewed surge of trouble to their door. "Pans, I don't know if I can - "

"Weren't you _just_ apologizing to her?" Pansy insisted furiously, taking a menacing step towards him. "You _knew_ how fucked Rabastan was," she accused, "you _knew_ the Dark Lord was living in _her house -_ "

Draco shut his eyes, reminding himself the sharp stab to his conscience was well-earned but clenching a fist anyway, feeling frustration boil in his chest at the nerve Pansy had, _the fucking audacity,_ to think he would refuse for anything less than _absolute fucking importance -_

"I know that," Draco half-shouted back, giving into nerves and desperation, "I fucking _know_ , Pansy, it's just that - "

"There is no _just_ anything, Draco!" Pansy raged back, her eyes darkened with a mix of fear and fury. "You _will_ do this, Draco, or so help me - "

Draco let out a growl of irritation, torn between the searing demand of his guilt - the allegiance he knew was required - and his need to keep the secrets of his own. "I could get her to Theo," he suggested weakly, but Pansy shook her head.

"It has to be _you_ ," she said. "You're the one with the alibi," she explained, beginning to pace the floor of the study. " _You're_ the one who was in France at the time it happened, he's not going to check on you," she muttered, half to herself, "but _Theo_ he might - "

As Draco watched Pansy prowl the study uneasily he was brought back to the tension in her stance when he'd last seen her. He heard her voice again; heard her insistence on him going to France while she was in the Forest, heard her say _since I had a reason to sneak around -_

"Wait," Draco interrupted, grabbing Pansy's arm. " _This_ is what you wanted an alibi for?" he demanded. "Did you fucking _know_ this was going to happen?"

Behind them, Daphne opened her mouth - to defend Pansy, Draco guessed, catching a hint of argument from the furrow of her brow - but Pansy yanked her own arm from his grip, narrowing her glare as she faced him. "Yes," she hissed, "I _did_ fucking know, but believe me, Draco, at this point we have enough on each other to fuck us _both_ up royally," she informed him with a snarl, "so you'd better just _tell me_ why you can't do this or I'll have to - "

He grimaced, finding no way out. "Potter," he cut in, his lips tightening as he said the name. "It's - Potter's in my house," he muttered, watching Daphne's eyes widen in surprise, catching Pansy's tiny hiccup of hesitation as she swayed forward at the name. " _And_ Granger," Draco added stiffly. "She's been there for about a month, but Potter - I - " he shook his head. "That just happened _today,_ and I can't fucking - "

"Holy fucking shit," Pansy said, her eyes impossibly large as she suddenly froze in place. "You have _Potter_?"

"I don't _have_ Potter," Draco snapped. "He's fucking - _armed,_ " he spat emphatically, "and unhinged - he's completely fucking _mental,_ and I don't know if this will _-_ "

"I can help him," Daphne interrupted quickly, taking a step towards Draco. "If you help me, I can tell him things," she said, her voice hushed and frantic. "I can tell him where Ginny Weasley is."

"What?" Draco erupted, staring at her. "Ginny Weasley's _alive_?"

"Draco!" Pansy shouted, snapping her fingers in his face. "Focus, you fuckwit - "

"FOCUS?!" he roared, pivoting to face her. "Do you realize what a fucking _nightmare_ this has become? Are you even _aware_ ," he hissed, "how many times I have found myself in this position? Do you have _any idea_ how many times I've had to - "

He trailed off as she stared, reading something in his face. "You didn't ask how she did it," Pansy commented, raising an eyebrow, "and you've barely reacted to his death." She paused and he shifted uneasily, recognizing the look on her face as one that meant he'd given her too much. "This isn't your first murder cover-up," she said slowly, almost triumphantly, and he kicked himself, " _is it,_ Draco?"

 _Fuck,_ he thought, grimacing, cursing Pansy's inimitable ability to trap him as he shifted under the weight of his own constant indecision. He glanced warily at Daphne, whose hazel eyes had gotten noticeably more alert since Potter's name had been mentioned, and considered in his internal calculations that what seemed to be a trap might not be without its uses. He remembered, then, the promise he'd made to Hermione, the things he'd said - he'd fucking _promise_ to find them, the other fucking _ravens,_ fucking Ginny Weasley among them - and if Daphne knew something, _anything,_ it would be more than Hermione had known for years -

"Fine," he sighed, desperate to leave before he said anything else, looking around for Pansy's elf. "Fine, I'll take Daphne, we can Apparate - "

"At this time of night? No," Pansy said sharply, glancing around nervously. "And I'm coming, I'll grab some - PAUL," she shouted, and he appeared at her side, glancing at her with an oddly slavish anxiety. "Get me two brooms," she muttered, "and make sure that if Darian comes home - " she paused, hesitating. "I - I don't know, just - "

"Paul will think of something, Mistress," Paul squeaked, snapping a finger to produce two brooms in each hand. Draco, who had never seen an elf so willing to lie to his own master, was quietly impressed with whatever Pansy had done to earn the elf's allegiance. "When should Paul expect to hear from Mistress?"

"I don't know," Pansy said nervously, glancing back at Daphne. "An hour? Or," she hesitated, wringing her hands, "I don't know if that will be enough time - "

"You don't have to come, Pans," Daphne said quietly, reaching for Pansy's hands and stilling them, twisting her fingers delicately to lace them with hers. "Stay here, it's safer for now - you won't implicate yourself - "

"And fucking _leave_ you?" Pansy gasped, pulling Daphne towards her and reaching up to lightly brush her thumb across Daphne's lip. "After what you've been through? Daph," she whispered, "I - I can't - "

"I'll be with Draco," Daphne reminded her, glancing momentarily at him and giving him the briefest, faintest smile before leaning to meet Pansy's hips with her own, finding an obvious comfort in the closeness. "I'll be okay, Pans, I promise - "

Draco forced himself not to stare as Pansy leaned forward, taking hold of Daphne's face and kissing her; a slow, penitent brush across her lips that was more intimate than anything he had ever witnessed from Pansy, even when he himself had been with her. He shifted his gaze away, giving them a moment as Pansy sniffed quietly, her fingers tangled in Daphne's hair as she choked out at a whisper, "I'll come see you in the morning, okay?"

"Okay," Daphne agreed, equally rasping and hoarse. "Thank you," she said, so softly that Draco's breathing seemed unsettlingly loud by comparison. "Thank you, thank you for saving me, for - for loving me," she whispered, "and for making me _brave_."

Pansy let out a quiet, breathy sob, a rustle between them indicating that they had stepped apart, and then -

"If anything happens to her, Draco, I'll fucking kill you," Pansy gritted out and he turned towards them again, watching her scrape furiously at her cheeks with the palm of her hand. "Okay?"

He nodded, reaching for Daphne's hand to squeeze it the most comforting way he could manage. "I know you will," he said, and Daphne forced a smile as she turned away from Pansy, taking one of the brooms from Paul's hand.

"Take us outside, would you, Paul?" she asked kindly, and the elf nodded, reaching up for Draco's cuff a second time to deposit them out in the gardens, Daphne holding her shoulders stiffly to prevent her from turning back.

Draco waited, bidding Paul a wordless goodbye with a nod of his head - to which the elf sniffed his acknowledgement, disappearing again without warning - and watched Daphne, wondering whether he should speak.

"Well," Daphne murmured, gracefully mounting her broom and easing out of the silence, "I suppose that was a lot of information in a short period of time, wasn't it?"

"Unfortunately," Draco said, deftly kicking off from the ground and following after her, casting a disillusionment charm around them and gesturing south, "information has not been arriving at the pacing I would fucking prefer."

"You said Potter," Daphne remarked neutrally, " _and_ Granger?"

"Yes," Draco said, leaning forward to pick up speed, suddenly desperate to get back to her, to the _one thing_ that felt more like a reassuring breath than the stale gust of panic that was currently recycling helplessly through his lungs. "So it seems there will be quite an array of information waiting for both of us, I think."

They rode in silence for a moment, floating above the current of the wind, before Daphne spoke again.

"You don't call her Granger anymore, do you?" she asked, passing him a softened sidelong glance. At his vacant look - his tongue caught on denial - she smirked, the Slytherin in her resurfacing as she shook her head at him, letting out a knowing sigh. "I've been hiding for a very long time," she told him sadly. "I'm starting to recognize when other people are doing it, too."

He pondered this for a moment - the truth of it, and the solidarity it seemed to quietly provide - and he heard Pansy's voice again -

 _If there is even a sliver of you that wants to fight for something, then Draco, I need you to take it -_

"So," Draco said, hesitantly clearing his throat, "you really killed Rabastan?"

She nodded slowly, looking far away. "Yes," she confirmed, though it did not appear to have settled fully within her psyche.

"Good," he determined, his voice clipped, and pointed straight ahead. "That way, then."

* * *

Harry had been lying with his head in her lap, dozing lightly before startling himself awake at the smallest of sounds - a habit, she assumed, from the last six months of guarded solitude - when they heard the sound of voices coming from downstairs; Hermione listened, catching Draco's voice and a quiet female voice she didn't recognize before hearing Theo's frantic yell cut through the stillness of the darkened house.

"YOU FUCKING DID _WHAT_ , GREENGRASS?"

Harry jerked up, and Hermione scrambled to her feet.

"Oh, like _you_ should be surprised," Hermione heard Draco mutter as she grabbed Harry's wrist, pulling him behind her and crouching down in the stairwell.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Theo demanded, and Draco sighed.

"Look, that's not the point," Draco said. "The _important_ thing here is that we need to think about what we're going to do now." She heard him mutter quietly, half under his breath, "I can only harbor a certain number of fugitives at one time before I'm just fucking _begging_ for disaster - "

 _Fugitives?_ Harry mouthed to Hermione, and she shrugged, informationless, having not heard either Greengrass sister's name for several years.

"Well fucking _pardon me_ if I want a little more information," they heard Theo retort sharply, a rustle accompanying the words as he must have turned to one of the others. "Daph, what was he doing to you?"

"Theo," she sighed, as Hermione registered that it was Daphne, "I really" - she sucked in a hesitant breath - "I can't - I don't want to - "

"That fucking bastard," Theo seethed knowingly, angrier now than Hermione had ever heard him. "That motherfucking, _cocksucking little -_ "

"He's dead, okay?" Draco interrupted. "He's fucking _dead_ , so let's just focus on the _living people_ in this scenario - "

"I told Draco I could help Potter," Daphne broached softly, with a gentleness sharpened by intent. "I was" - she stopped, taking a slow, dragging breath - "I've spent the last five years living in the same house as the Dark Lord, and I - I _know_ things - "

Hermione and Harry abruptly exchanged glances, Harry's brow arching curiously at the sound of her offer.

"Look," Draco cut in loudly, "we are _clearly_ not in a position to deal with that right now, so we're just going to have to focus on the immediate - like, for example," he said impatiently, " _when_ did you do it, and what does the Dark Lord know, and where the fuck does he think _you_ are - "

"Pansy said he hadn't mentioned me when he was at her house," Daphne supplied quickly. "Rodolphus found Rabastan, and then he and the Dark Lord both went to Mulciber's to discuss it - "

"Yes, but he's _going_ to eventually remember you exist," Draco said, and Hermione recognized the sound of abject frustration in his voice. "And if he comes looking here, we're _all_ going to be fucked - not to mention," he added furiously, "that _what the fuck_ was Pansy's plan?"

"I don't know," Daphne protested. "I mean," she amended, "I _do_ , but we - I hadn't - "

"You hadn't expected fucking _three criminals_ to be living in the same house?" Theo demanded, sounding equally strained. Hermione reached out to grip Harry's wrist, feeling him tense anxiously as the mood below them continued to fester and sour. "I will admit," Theo erupted sharply, "that a part of me wanted _some_ chaos, but _this -_ "

"Look," Draco interrupted, "tell me what it is you know about Ginny Weasley" - Hermione's heart thudded and she thrust an arm out against Harry's abdomen, a sudden reflex, like she was holding him back from a car wreck - "and _maybe_ we can come up with something to - "

"What does she have to do with this?" Theo said, sounding weary and vaguely forlorn. "Don't fucking tell me _she's_ killed someone, too - "

"Well, I'm sure she has," Daphne said flatly. "Though not of her own volition, of course - "

Hermione watched the muscle tighten painfully against Harry's jaw, his already wild eyes widening.

" - and I would _request,_ Theo, that you not throw that word around quite yet, as it's still quite fresh, you know - "

"What, _kill_? Because I fucking have _news for you,_ Greengrass - "

"Stop," Draco roared firmly, growling slightly. "We have to _think_ , okay, we're fucking _Slytherins,_ we have to do this rationally - if Daphne is going to be blamed, which she _eventually_ will be," he gritted out impatiently, "considering she's gone missing - we can't just run around, barging in with nonsensical thoughts - "

"I've got it," Harry half-shouted, as Hermione, who had been distracted by Draco's distress, looked up to realize he had gotten to his feet and barged into the front room. She darted down the stairs after him, noting that he was still gripping tightly to his wand and feeling a brush of anxiety. "I've got it," he said again, as Hermione stumbled through the doorway behind him. "We'll say the Order did it."

"Oh good, he _eavesdrops_ , too," Theo muttered. "It seems there is no crime too petty for the Chosen One, is there?"

"What?" Hermione and Draco demanded in unison, as Daphne stepped forward.

"What do you mean?" she asked, and as Hermione looked at her - despite the visibly tousled quality that must have come from being on a broom - she unconsciously took a step back, struck by how much prettier Daphne Greengrass was than she remembered. Even with - _or_ , perhaps, _because of_ \- the obvious torment on her face, she was stunning, and for the first time, Hermione realized how she must be worn and ragged by comparison, shriveled nearly to bone. "The Order?" Daphne asked faintly. "But - "

"But what?" Harry asked; _a little too sharply_ , Hermione thought. "We're all dead?" he accused, crossing his arms over his chest, and Daphne sighed, obviously dancing delicately around the question. Hermione, meanwhile, twitched uncomfortably at the familiarity of the scenario; at the sinking feeling, the echo of doubt and fear -

"It just seems," Daphne began, and was promptly cut off.

"It _seems_ fucking stupid, and it _is,_ " Draco said, his pale brow furrowed. "The last known member of the Order is _Granger,_ " he said emphatically, catching her eye and softening the slightest, most inarticulable degree as he looked at her, "and even though we've kept that relatively quiet," he added - and as his tension grew, Hermione's blistered in unison - "there are still people _who know -_ "

"Not to mention," Hermione blurted out, rounding on Harry, "that you _did this before_ , and someone got killed!" She caught a brief glance between Draco and Theo from the corner of her eye but shoved brusquely past the observation, turning combatively to Harry. "You haven't thought this through," she insisted. "I know you probably think we need to do something drastic - "

"Hermione," Harry said, glancing at her with a wild recklessness that she hadn't seen since the raid at the Ministry - _which_ , she reminded herself, _was also not particularly triumphant_ \- and leaving her to find herself torn between the contentment she felt at a sign of normalcy and the utter dread that had always paired with his inspiration. "Listen," he said, with his old air of rebellion, "at this point, it's drastic or nothing. We can say the Order kidnapped her," he explained, gesturing to Daphne as she chewed her lip uncertainly, "and they'd never think to look _here,_ and then - "

"And then what?" Hermione demanded. "You pin another murder on _yourself_? You get yourself" - she broke off, struggling to breathe, the memories flooding back; herself, her rage - _you were supposed to keep him safe,_ she thought, and _we're all pawns to you! -_ and the way she had almost lost everything, everything, _everything_ \- "You can't," she gasped, "you just - you've only just come back - "

"What happened before was different," Harry said firmly, the words sounding somehow more inanely stubborn when coming from his scruffy, ill-cared for, ferally bearded lips. "We were being careless then, we overplayed our hand - but this would be _different_ , we could do this _differently -_ "

"And then what?" Hermione said, and she could tell by the faces of the others around them that she was getting louder, more shrill. "And then I lose you? Again?" She pulled at her collar, feeling it tighten around her neck. "I lose _you_ ," she choked out, "like we lost Ron?"

"Hermione," Harry said helplessly, stepping towards her, but she shrank back, furiously shaking her head; and for a moment she was somewhere else, somewhere in a room she did not recognize, in a room with no exit, collapsed on the ground and Harry is out of reach - there are marks on the floor and voices in her head and _Harry isn't real -_

Arms closed around her and she fought them, briefly, lost in the nightmare reborn until she managed to take a breath of him - _Draco_ \- and withered, sinking to her knees; he sank with her, and she remembered that he had always been real, that when he has been here, she has not been alone, and when his name slipped from her lips, when she heard _Hermione_ against the back of her neck, she gripped his hands and -

"Draco," she gasped, and because she remembered that everything can be lost, including him, including this - _inevitability and punishment_ \- she went slack against him and his arms tightened, murmuring in her ear.

"You're here," he whispered, "you're safe," and she knew he was a fool if he believed it but there was still some comfort to the thought; that at least her thoughts were grounded again in something she could lean on - and something, she thought hazily, that if she wanted to, she could break.

She wouldn't, she knew immediately, but the reality of it - the fragility of muscle and bone - was comforting in a way, and she caught her breath as his name caught on her tongue.

"There is something," Draco told her slowly, "that you should know about Weasley." He swallowed uncomfortably, his breath ragged, and she heard him say _I'm sorry, I wish it had ended there,_ heard Theo echo the sentiment with _blood on our hands -_

"It was different then," Theo cut in, and Hermione glanced up, feeling Draco's chin shift behind her, as though he had been startled to hear Theo's voice. "What happened with Weasley," Theo clarified, looking drawn. "It was different."

"How?" Harry asked, a little demandingly, and Theo grimaced.

"We weren't there to help you then," he said flatly, and Hermione held her breath.

* * *

Draco felt her inhale sharply and let his forehead sag against the back of her head when it didn't relent; when he knew she was waiting, expecting something miraculous, hoping for something more than he could give -

 _When he found that he himself was nothing, and it made him feeble, and he saw himself a coward -_

"Then?" Potter demanded, staring at Theo. "So does that mean that you are now?"

Theo hesitated, glancing at Draco for confirmation, but it was Daphne who took a step.

"Theo's right," Daphne ventured tentatively. "You didn't have allies then. You were fighting blind, but - " she inhaled sharply, glancing at Draco. "I can't speak for them," she murmured, gesturing between Draco and Theo, "but Pansy, I know, has eyes on things - and I can tell you what _I_ know - "

"So you're in, then?" Potter asked, and Draco felt the air shift around them, felt momentum breathlessly taking hold that he wanted to wrap his fingers around, to brutally drag to a skidding halt. "All we'd have to do is say you'd been kidnapped, that one of _us_ killed Lestrange - "

"It would make him look elsewhere," Daphne agreed tentatively.

" _And_ ," Potter continued, "it might drag some of the other Order members out of hiding - "

"They're certainly stupid enough," Theo muttered. "And if we presume any suspicion is off the existing Death Eaters, we probably _are_ safer for it, which means we can keep _you_ fuckers safer - "

"Yes," Potter said excitedly, "and if we have Smith - "

"Which we do," Theo explained to Daphne, sounding bored. "Long story."

" - then we can get information from _Snatchers,_ too - "

"We could do this," Daphne said, her voice hushed in wonder; in his arms, Draco felt Hermione's breath catch, her lungs alternately filling and deflating with an errant, frenetic cadence. "We could, couldn't we?"

"Yes," Potter said, springing nimbly forward, madness glinting in his slightly unfocused green eyes. "Yes, and here's what we'll do - "

"Hold on," Draco erupted sharply, and Hermione twisted around to look at him as he huffed indignantly, "this is _my house,_ you insufferable fucks, you can't just come in here and decide it's now the headquarters for whatever horrible, brainless, _doomed,_ " he added pointedly, jabbing a finger at Potter, "plot you're stirring up - "

"Fine," Potter said neutrally. "Would _you_ like to be in charge, Malfoy?"

"I would not!" Draco snapped, helping Hermione to her feet as he lunged forward, unsure whether to shout louder at Potter or at Theo. "Listen, I am all for making a plan," he clarified, "and I _want_ to help Daphne, but I don't want to - " he hesitated, catching Hermione's curious stare, "I - I just can't risk - "

"All that's _left_ is risk," Theo said, stepping towards him. "You knew that," he added quietly, leaning in, "when you took her in, you knew that. You didn't see this coming, because _fuck this_ ," Theo added, waving a hand at everything around them, "but still, you chose a side, didn't you?"

Draco's gaze slipped helplessly to Hermione, to the look of wonder on her face; _a reluctant hero is a hero still,_ he thought, and _if you lose, I lose -_

"We have to be careful," Draco croaked, his voice thin with swallowed reservations as he spoke. "We have to fucking _be careful,_ and we have to plan this out," he said, and as Potter's grin widened, he brandished a finger at him, feeling an anticipatory fury twist in his chest. "We're not doing this the way _you_ do it, Potter," he snapped. "No flying by the seat of our proverbial pants, you little shit - "

"No, no, why would we?" Potter said, with an unsettling giddiness that made Draco's lips twist into a grimace. "You're in charge, Malfoy. It's _your_ Order, now - "

"It's not the Order," Draco barked. "This is _not_ the Order, okay? This is - " he paused, hesitating. "This is necessity, this is _survival -_ "

"This is fucking war, mate," Theo said, a murmur in his ear. "Who cares about semantics?"

"War," Draco repeated, startled, and Theo nodded, his grip tightening on Draco's shoulder.

"You said we were the lucky ones," Theo reminded him, "but we knew it wasn't luck, didn't we? We knew we never won," he finished, resigned and determined at once. "But what we didn't know is that it _isn't fucking over_."

"Because we rise," Potter supplied simply, taking a step, and Draco groaned.

"This is not the fucking Order!" he shouted. "Don't make any of your hellish phoenix references, Potter, or I _fucking swear -_ "

"We always fucking rise," Hermione murmured, a smile flitting across her lips, and Draco sighed.

"You fucking shits," he muttered brusquely.

 _We always fucking rise._

* * *

They agreed to sleep on it; to reconvene in the morning, to move slowly and with calculation, which was something she preferred.

She saw Harry's brow arch dubiously as she slipped her hand in Draco's - leading him back to his bedroom with a blissful solemnity, his footsteps light and reverent in her wake - but didn't feel the need to indulge his curiosities.

The moment they'd passed through the frame of his room she drew him into her, letting him lead her to the bed and falling against it with him, a slow, easy tangle of lips and legs that meant she was breathing in the sum of him, the confusion and frustration that was embedded with intention and fealty and want. He kissed her hungrily, taking the comfort he needed from her lips, and she kissed him with a quiet desperation, with the need to be reminded what was _real,_ what was now and what was then, and that _now_ meant him even if _then_ had meant loss.

She knew he didn't have the frame of loyalty she possessed; that for all her fear, she would still be convinced, because it was Harry and because she'd done everything for him all her life. She would think it wrong, would find herself unsteady and adrift, but she would choose him because she always had; Draco's choices, she knew, were far less predictable, and far less intuitive, and he would find hers to be foreign and strange and _stupid,_ because they nearly always were.

But in a way, she was grateful for that, she thought, feeling the pressure of his fingers claiming every spare inch of her, pulling her close and holding her together as they came undone - a meld of _please_ and _you_ and _yes, this, us_ \- his arms always tight around her, a promise in itself. If every night before this had been a struggle, had been a sense of torn affections and paths that were doomed never to merge, this one was more coming together than any of the others; more, she thought, a joining, intertwining, a captivity of breaths that was a new kind of rawness, a new lightness, a series of promises.

His fingers dug into her thigh; _I won't let go -_

She scraped her nails across his back; _whatever comes -_

His lips brushed against her neck; _I'll make you whole -_

She gasped into his mouth; _I'll belong to you -_

Her hips raised up to meet the arch in his back, matching him in headlong desperation; they mirrored motions, traded sighs, and she filled the yawning, gaping pieces of her soul with the jagged shards of him, _like pieces made to fit -_

 _Today,_ with a moan in his ear, _together,_ as his head fell back -

 _We rise,_ _we rise, we rise -_

They lay together in the dark, his finger tracing the skin of her shoulder - the phoenix, she thought, and smiled - and shared the silence, let it bend itself around them, curling them within the velvety tendrils of its embrace.

"So," he murmured eventually. "This turn of events - "

She shifted, glancing at him over her shoulder.

"Harry likes to think of this war as a door that can be kicked down," she explained softly, shaking her head. "We can do this," she ventured, "he's not wrong, and it's not over - "

Draco stiffened, though he permitted a nod, his lips nudging her cheek.

" - but I like to think of it as having a series of tiny locks," she explained. "And I _think_ ," she added, pausing, "that there are keys."

"Keys," he repeated, slipping his fingers between hers. "Which are?"

She turned to face him, pulling him close, smiling against his lips.

"Why don't I tell you a story," she suggested at a whisper, and he closed his eyes, sharing her smile.

* * *

"Once there was a man," she said, "who was the strongest man alive, who could not be defeated. His countryman regarded him as a hero, and hailed him as a king, and so he believed himself invincible, invulnerable to death."

"But he, strong as he was, was still just a man," she murmured, reaching up to brush a finger along his jaw, "and so he fell in love with a woman from among the people he had conquered and made her his wife, believing her to be as enamored of him as he was of her. His wife, however," she said, in a low, careful warning, "wanted more from a man than invincibility, and found the man in her bed to be spiteful and cruel; she stung from the pride that had made him careless, from the brutality he'd learned from adoration, and so she learned his secrets, discovering fractures in his constitution that even he had not bothered to know."

"One day he hosted a celebration, speaking a riddle, a clever trick of words to boast his cleverness in addition to his strength, and of his prey, he announced that _out of the eater came something to eat_ ," she recited, " _and out of the strong came something sweet_."

"Hearing this," she continued, "his desperate wife held tight to the words, to the meaning they stirred in her bones, intent to uncover sweetness that emerged from within her own strength, however steep the cost to her conscience; and so she revealed the flaws she had learned to her countrymen, reckoning the man to defeat by the fervor of his unyielding pride; by his unmerited arrogance," she explained, her gaze hardening, "in thinking that he was loved, or that he was invulnerable, simply because his blood hadn't yet been spilled."

She paused for a moment, her fingers slipping to his lips; he kissed the tips of them, shivering in her coldness, in the depths of night she possessed that somehow lit his soul.

 _Betrayal,_ he thought, and heard her again; _is anyone a traitor who gives a monster his due?_

"A fool destroyed by love," he commented, eyeing the glowing curve of her bare shoulder beneath the fabric of his sheets. "Will you not destroy me?" he asked, and while he'd thought it a simple, unburdened question, the words burned helplessly up his throat, laden with a salty tinge of fear as they settled on his tongue.

She said nothing for a moment, not taking her eyes from his, and he watched the glimmer in her eye, the gold that carried through the room; the light that warmed him in the dark.

"I think I'd sooner suffer with you," she whispered, and to the lulling cadence of _if you lose, I lose,_ he gradually descended into sleep, lured by dreams of dying in the arms of night, of perishing in her darkness.

* * *

 **a/n:** Based on the story of Samson and Delilah, from the biblical _Book of Judges_. Sorry for the unpredictability; busy times, and some personal struggles, so I thank you for your patience. Dedicated to Mondschein Psychi, whose excitement is always delightfully palpable.

 _Also, if you're not already following, I am doing daily posts in a new collection called **Draught of Living Death**. The one shots are presently being used as a sort of countdown to my birthday, which approaches, as all time seems to be marching, with unrelenting fervor._


	21. The Doors Unlocked

**Chapter 21: The Doors Unlocked**

* * *

 _ **2000**_

* * *

"I'm going," Harry said, pulling his arm from her reach. "Don't try to stop me."

"Harry!" Hermione growled, chasing after him. "You can't be serious - "

"I'm with her, mate," Ron sighed, lumbering after them both. "It's obviously bloody _insanity_ , but she's right - you can't just show up by yourself," he continued, picking up speed as Harry's stride took on a more erratic quality. "Even if the two of us came with you, we'd _still_ be outnumbered - "

"I don't care," Harry snapped tersely, barely turning over his shoulder to direct the fully unsurprising retort. "They can't do this. They can't _fucking_ do this - "

"Of course they can," Hermione said frantically, pleading with him to see reason. "They did it before, Harry, and they won't stop now just because there's a rumor that you're alive - "

"If we don't go after Dean, he'll die!" Harry shouted, rounding on them. "He'll fucking _die,_ Hermione, and I can't have that on my conscience." He paused, face red in challenge, as though this had somehow been her fault and not Voldemort's. "Can you live with it on yours?"

Hermione stared at him in disbelief.

"No," she confessed faintly. "But still, there has to be a better way we can - "

"There's no _time_ ," Harry groaned in frustration, throwing his hands up. "This can't be like the horcrux hunt, Hermione - we can't spend weeks trying to find a way into the Ministry, or into Gringotts" - he paused, clenching a fist - "only to have the plan fucking _fall apart_ \- "

"I'm not saying that," Hermione said, chewing her lip. "I'm not. I just think we should - "

"What's going on?" Luna asked softly, materializing from amid the trees. She was holding a conjured bag of what looked like firewood, which she carefully set down at her feet before joining them. "What happened?"

An impatient muscle twitched warningly around Harry's jaw. "They've got Dean," he muttered, not looking at her. "Rowle has him."

"How do you know?" Luna pressed innocently, tilting her head. "Did it come to you in a dream?"

Hermione opened her mouth to argue - _of course not,_ she wanted to snap, _we're not all celestially influenceable loons -_ but then stopped as she saw something flash in Luna's pale grey eyes; a bolt of sharpened recognition.

"No," Harry muttered, his lowered gaze unfocused beneath the lenses of his glasses. "I don't have a connection with him anymore, but I saw the Daily Prophet - there's a picture of Dean being taken, it's plastered on the cover - "

"Hm," Luna remarked, without any visible shift in emotion. "So you must have read where they took him, then?"

"No," Harry repeated, louder this time. "But it's _obvious_ \- Rowle had him in the picture, so that must mean - "

"You know, I've always admired the way you can gather so much from so little information," Luna commented, taking a careful step towards him. Ron glanced at Hermione, one brow raised as they watched. "It's really quite astounding, Harry."

"Well - " Harry stopped, stammering. "I mean, I'm not exactly sure - "

"You're not?" Luna echoed. "But surely you must know where you're going, don't you?"

Harry seemed to choke on a breath. "Well, yes," he said firmly, though his gaze darted momentarily between Ron and Hermione in what appeared to be a brief reprieve from confidence. "I mean, I'd start with Rowle," he began, and then hesitated. "Or possibly Malfoy Manor," he amended quickly, "seeing as, um." He stopped. "I - that's where he was, you know, last time - "

"I'm sure You-Know-Who probably hasn't done anything differently," Luna agreed softly, and Hermione stared, realizing her jaw had worked itself open. "After all, it can't have been more than two years - "

"Two years," Harry croaked, seeming to suddenly grow conscious of the time that had passed.

"Yes," Luna agreed, nodding encouragingly. "And what can happen in two years?"

Ron let out a barely audible cough. "This," he suggested wryly, gesturing around their camp; behind one of the tents, Hermione noticed Bill stepping quietly into view, observing them from afar. "An entire society of refugees, for one thing."

"Not to mention a new network of Snatchers," Hermione supplied bitterly, feeling herself scowl as Harry glanced up, meeting her eye with a look of bitter frustration. "What?"

"I know what you're doing," he said to her. "You're trying to stop me."

"I'm not _doing_ anything," Hermione retorted, throwing her hands up. "I'm just saying that you're not _prepared,_ Harry, and you can't just - "

"I'm going," Harry said, finding his volume again in the heat of his defiance. "I don't care if you're with me or not," he added, halfway to an unhinged shout, "and if I have to - "

He was immediately cut off as Luna took three steps, her hand meeting his cheek with an audible slap that was met with a disruptive cry of "FUCK" that tore from Harry's lips and echoed through the forest, disturbing a nearby herd of feral blast-ended skrewts.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered under his breath, as Hermione took a step.

"Luna," she exclaimed, "what on _earth -_ "

"If you won't listen to reason, Harry Potter, you will listen to me," Luna said sharply, all airy daftness suddenly evaporated as she pulled her hand back to her side, standing on her toes to look Harry in the eye. "You will not die, Harry, no matter how badly you want to," she said warningly, her grey eyes flashing. "I won't stand for it."

He paused for a moment, gaping at her. "I wasn't - " he began weakly. "I didn't - "

"You're being careless," she told him. "You're throwing yourself away because you don't think you can do this."

"Do what?" he asked weakly, and she settled herself back to the ground, sinking her heels against the earth of the forest floor.

"Forgive yourself," she murmured, softening. "But nobody blames you, Harry," she said sadly, "and we all need you."

"Nobody needs me," Harry muttered hoarsely, and Hermione moved to take a step forward at that, to comfort his distress, but Ron held her back, gripping her wrist and shaking his head. "They need a _savior,_ " Harry ranted, "they need a fucking Chosen One, but all I've ever done is" - he stopped, choking on a mix of sorrow and anger - " _fail them_ , and - "

"You saved my life, Harry," Luna said, cutting him off. "You saved all of theirs, too," she reminded him, gesturing to their camp, and Harry bent his head, still struggling with the weight of his confession. "You'll save Dean," Luna told him, "but not like this." She reached up to take hold of his face, swiping her thumb below the red rims of his green eyes. "Not like this," she said again, her voice half a whisper.

Harry locked eyes with her for a moment, reading her intent before suddenly pulling her into him, kissing her with a ferocity that forced her backwards several steps, one arm wrapped around her waist as he tangled his fingers in her hair. Luna, whose eyes had initially widened in surprise, tilted her head up and leaned into his kiss, running her fingers along his jaw and catching her breath with a smile. There was a trace of fondness to the motion that Hermione faintly registered meant that Luna had known; that she had waited, and that this had always been what she'd wanted.

"Oh, _please_ ," Hermione muttered to herself, fighting a groan as Ron delivered a sharp nudge to her rib cage. "Ouch," she whispered to him before looking up to catch Bill's eye, a curious look of interest momentarily passing quietly over his face before he turned abruptly, taking off in the opposite direction.

Harry and Luna broke apart, a dazed look of pleasant satisfaction creeping over Harry's lips as he swallowed, his eyes still on her mouth.

"Rowle," he said carefully, raking a hand through his hair. "They say he's in charge of Snatchers now."

"Snatchers congregate in Hogsmeade," Luna replied, nodding. "You could take the cloak and see if they might discuss where they take muggle-borns."

"We," Harry corrected. " _We_ could take the cloak," he clarified, and Luna tilted her head thoughtfully, waiting for explanation. "I mean," he said, clearing his throat to glance up at Ron and Hermione. "Safety in numbers and all that, I think."

"Oh, we're back to thinking now, are we?" Hermione murmured, but Ron hurriedly stepped in front of her, making wild gestures with his hands and prompting her to step back, sulking behind him.

"So look," Ron said, throwing an arm around Harry's shoulders as though no inadvisable shouting had ever taken place. "Bill mentioned You-Know-Who's given property in Hogsmeade to some of the Death Eaters - Mulciber, apparently - "

"Right," Harry agreed, turning with him as they headed back to camp. "You think maybe he could be involved in this?"

"Maybe, maybe not," Ron returned, shrugging. "Either way, hopefully Dean's not in some other pureblood manor house," he muttered. "Seeing as we don't exactly have any house elves to get us past the blood wards this time - "

They carried on in rapid conversation, heads bent, distractedly leaving Hermione and Luna behind where they stood.

"I was just trying to get him to do the same thing you did, you know," Hermione sighed, and Luna glanced at her, a daintily bemused smile on her face.

"You wanted him to kiss you?" Luna prompted innocently, and Hermione glared at her.

"I wanted him to _see sense,_ " Hermione snapped, wanting momentarily to shake her. "But apparently he has no interest in listening to me at all."

"Nobody wants to listen," Luna remarked, watching Harry as he turned to look over his shoulder, seeming to seek her out on instinct. "I find people are very particular about the way ideas take root."

"Is this about Nargles?" Hermione asked, crossing her arms over her chest. "Or something?"

"Or something," Luna agreed, nodding slowly as she offered Harry a small wave, a brief flutter of her fingers that ended with a subtle curve of her lips. "I just find it a smoother course, I think," she said, turning to Hermione, "to try to imitate something familiar than force my way in from the outside."

"Imitate something familiar?" Hermione echoed, making a face. "How does that - "

"Oh, you know," Luna said, shrugging. "To blend. To, um - " she paused, glancing up at the crown of trees before refocusing slowly on Hermione. "To match the requisite pieces of something, you could say," she continued. "Understand what it's made of, and use that to find a way in."

"To find a way in," Hermione repeated, something stirring in her mind at the phrase. "To find a way _in,_ " she said again, drumming her fingers along her temple. "But then - "

"Yes?" Luna prompted, shading her eyes from the sun.

"I have an idea about the blood wards," Hermione gasped suddenly, fumbling for her wand.

Luna smiled. "I knew you would, Hermione," she said dreamily, the corners of her lips twisting upwards as she smiled.

* * *

 _ **2005 (Present)**_

* * *

Hermione stirred, turning over her shoulder to face Draco, who appeared to be quietly contemplating the dimensions of the ceiling.

"Draco," she murmured, and he turned his head, a brief smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Did you sleep?"

"Not well," he admitted, rubbing his eyes. He glanced at her again, consuming her with a look. "Sorry," he said softly. "Did I wake you?"

"No," she assured him, reaching out to brush her fingers against his lips; he sighed, his breath skating across the tips of them, before pulling her in by the waist. "What's bothering you?"

"What _isn't_ bothering me?" he muttered, resting his forehead against hers. "This whole thing is a mess."

"Harry, you mean?" Hermione prompted. "Daphne?"

"All of the above," Draco supplied, shutting his eyes with a grimace. "I just - " he hesitated. "I don't know how to - how I can - "

She drew her thumb along his jaw, quieting him. "It's a lot," she said. "I know it's a lot."

His eyes fluttered open, meeting hers. "It is," he agreed, "but that's not it. I want to - " he broke off again, tormented by a wave of insecurity that teetered unsteadily on fear. "For you, I mean," he explained quietly, "for you, I want to - "

"Be more?" she asked, and fought a laugh at his tentative nod. "I'm not much," she confessed, and he opened his mouth to disagree but she stopped him with a shake of her head. "No, don't argue," she whispered. "Just listen."

He nodded slowly, his fingers digging into her hips.

"It feels like I've spent all my life trying to slow Harry down - to make him _think,_ to force him to see things the way I see them," she said, and then paused, biting her lip. "It was selfish of me."

"It wasn't," he began to protest, but she reached around, smoothing the pale blond strands at the back of his head.

"We're selfish people, Draco Malfoy," she said softly. "You and I, we want the world to look a certain way, to fit within the confines of our satisfaction. Whatever that used to be," she conceded, pointedly arching a brow, "and whatever it is now, that's what we want."

"I want you," he said, a bare-faced point of contradiction, and she couldn't prevent a shudder, forced to bear the truth of it as it thundered up the notches in her spine; helpless desire and simmering dread that tapped on her shoulder and held its breath.

"You're not less than me," she said, suddenly wishing to bury her face in his warmth, in his shoulder, in the rigid shelter of his hold; to melt to nothing in his arms. "That's all I want you to believe."

He pulled her closer, tucking her head under his chin and sighing, his heavy swallow nudging gently at her cheek.

"You and Potter," he said - somewhat gruffly, like he was loath to think of them as one. "You have a fucking fascinating inability to forgive yourselves the misfortunes of others."

"And you," she countered, closing her eyes. "You don't?"

He pulled away, lowering his chin to look at her. "The things that are my fault are not a matter of my imagination," he told her. "The wrongs I've committed have a body count."

"Not from your wand," she reminded him, but he only held on tighter, persistent in his refusal.

"Don't make light of my weaknesses," he told her. "Don't debase yourself by thinking that they're in any way equal to yours."

"You're not weak," she ventured, but he shook his head.

"I hope you think that," he said, looking sorrowful at the words. "I really hope you do, because I've only ever been strong with you. _For_ you," he amended, a fierceness to his voice. "So if you can believe that what you've seen from me is accurate to what I am, then good. Fucking _good_ ," he swore, with a hollow, mirthless laugh. "It means you've forgotten all the other shit I've done."

She waited for the laughter to fade, for his grim facade to fracture.

"It doesn't matter," she insisted, digging her fingers into his chest. "Who you were before doesn't matter."

He sighed, shifting onto his back and pulling her with him. "Let's hope whoever I am now doesn't get us all killed," he muttered, as footsteps suddenly pounded down the hall.

"Draco," Theo said, bursting into the room and then promptly covering his eyes. "Sorry," he muttered, but Hermione's gaze shifted to the hastily cuffed sleeve of his left arm. "We have to go."

"What is it?" Draco asked, moving Hermione out of view behind him as he sat up. He suddenly launched forward, his bare torso materializing from beneath the duvet as he drew his arm towards his stomach, hissing in pain.

Hermione looked up at Theo; she opened her mouth to speak, to ask _is it him - is it what I think it is -_

"The Dark Lord," Theo answered for her, his voice clipped. "We're being summoned."

Draco let out a sharp breath, glancing behind him at Hermione as he rubbed vacantly at his wrist, his thumb digging into the Dark Mark; she could see he was unsurprised by the summons, though he tried to conceal the motion from her. "Do you want me to do this?" he asked quietly, clenching a fist and covering the Mark on his left wrist with the palm of his right hand. "What Potter wants. Is that what you want me to do?"

Theo, recognizing the tension in the moment, quickly made his way to the door. "I'll give you five minutes," he muttered under his breath. He glanced at Draco, a somewhat reflexive motion, and Hermione thought she caught something breathless in his gaze; something desperate, she thought, suddenly questioning what she knew about the world outside their bed.

"No," she said, drawing the sheets around her and sitting up. "Stay." She looked at Draco, who was waiting expectantly for her answer.

"If you lose, I lose," Draco whispered, his fingers still wrapped tightly around his wrist; Hermione nodded, watching Theo's chin drop as he stared at the floor, uncharacteristically quiet.

"Do what you think is right," she said. "I trust you." She leaned forward, taking hold of his left hand and pressing her lips to the Mark, soothing the burn. "Whatever you choose, I'd sooner suffer with you," she said, so quietly he might have felt the words rather than heard them, and he closed the distance between them with a greedy inhalation, thieving the sentiment from her tongue.

* * *

There was less than a moment to think, certainly no blessing of time for consultation; Draco dressed quickly and Theo thundered down the stairs beside him, neither saying a word.

"Malfoy," Potter said, meeting them at the bottom of the steps and leaping to his feet. "I should come with you."

"Are you fucking insane?" Draco countered, not bothering to pause. "Fucking _no,_ Potter, you'll stay right here like a good little fugitive - "

"I've got my cloak," Potter argued. "Nobody will know. And I just need to have a look around," he added insistently, "maybe figure out how we can find a way to - "

"No," Draco ruled flatly. "Terrible idea. Fucking - "

"Horrendous," Theo supplied, nodding courteously. "Apocalyptic." He paused. "Idiotic."

"Unwise," Daphne contributed, materializing from the kitchen. "I can tell you all those things about the house while they're gone, Harry."

 _Harry?_ Draco briefly processed, but had no time to question whatever developments had occurred while he and Hermione had slept; instead he reached over to wordlessly grab a handful of Floo powder, promptly leaping back as his fireplace illuminated without warning.

"Draco," Pansy hissed, her head surging through the flames as Potter instantly ducked out of sight. "I need to - "

"Not now," Draco snapped, clenching a fist in agitation as his Mark continued to pulse in warning. "Pansy, get the fuck out of my fireplace."

"Hi Pans," Daphne called, stepping into view behind him. Pansy softened at the sight of her, but immediately returned to barking orders at Draco.

"Fucking let me in," she growled, "or _so help me_ , Draco, I will - "

"It doesn't work like that," Draco cut in brusquely. "The numerous benefits of being the Black heir include you not coming over unannounced."

Beside him, Theo managed a coughing laugh.

"Draco," Pansy snarled warningly, and he sighed.

"There's a portkey in my mailbox," he told her. "Have Paul take you. Now," he instructed, grabbing hold of her forehead and giving her a brisk shove backwards, "get out of my Floo. And you," he shouted to Daphne, before extending the reach of his instruction to jab a finger at Potter as he reappeared, "stay away from the fireplaces, you absolute fucking - "

"Got it," Daphne called melodically, waving as she took a sip of her tea. Theo nudged him forward, clipping him in the ribs.

"Elbows in," Theo advised with a smirk, and Draco sighed, calling out "the Lestrange Estate" before stepping through the fireplace with Theo at his side.

There was an immediate shift in the air as they entered, a moody silence that fell over them as their footsteps echoed through the corridor to the dining room. The house was dark, made gloomier than usual by what seemed a marked lack of care, making the funereal quality of the iron chandelier more fitting than ever.

They were the last to arrive, and Draco caught a tiny shake of Lucius' head as they strode in; Draco opted to say nothing as he offered a bow of his head to the Dark Lord, knowing an unbidden apology could be just as unwelcome as his apparent tardiness.

Across the table, Gosforth eyed them curiously, glancing between Draco and Theo as though he could read something of interest in their postures. Draco bristled; Theo nudged him, glancing askance. _Ignore it,_ his green eyes warned.

Draco's eyes fell instead on the empty seat where Rabastan would have been.

"Death Eaters," the Dark Lord said, addressing the room without salutation. "Yesterday, our brotherhood suffered the loss of one of our own."

Draco forced himself to bend his head, formulating as believable a face of shock as he could muster. Beside him, Theo's tightened grimace was passably convincing as a somber form of surprise.

"Rabastan was found murdered on the floor of his study," the Dark Lord continued. Beside him Rodolphus gritted his teeth, his eyes darting around the room without resting on any particular person or thing. "An _Avada,_ but no other traces of magic," Lord Voldemort continued. "The blood wards had not been disturbed, nor had the Floo network been activated."

Draco caught Gosforth's brow furrowing across the table. "My Lord," Gosforth interrupted, prompting the more senior Death Eaters to scowl impatiently in his direction. "Was there no one else in the house?"

"Gosforth," Lucius hissed under his breath, but unnervingly, the Dark Lord let out a quiet, mirthful chuckle.

"A valid question, if impetuously ventured," the Dark Lord replied, his voice tailored with an even, unsettling cadence of certainty. "There is a very likely possibility that Lady Daphne Lestrange was present at the time of Rabastan's killing, though she is now missing. You know her," the Dark Lord commented, his gaze swiveling to focus on Draco and Theo. "You are quite familiar with the former Miss Greengrass, are you not?"

Lucius' look of horror fell upon Draco's face with a near audible impact.

"We were, at one time," Draco acknowledged neatly, carefully composed. "It's been several years, My Lord, since our school days - "

"Mm," Lord Voldemort agreed, nodding. "And I understand you were elsewhere yesterday, Draco, were you not?"

"My Lord?" Draco asked, permitting his genuine shock at the comment to bleed through his tightly constructed mask of ignorance. "Are you suggesting that I might have - "

"I'm suggesting nothing," the Dark Lord said, his thin lips creeping into a smile. "And I imagine it's fair to presume, then, that you are denying nothing?"

"I - " Draco glanced at his father, whose mouth tightened in disapproval. "No, My Lord, you are correct."

He tried not to watch as eyebrows rose around the room, a unified expression of skepticism.

"An interesting time to be abroad," Lord Voldemort commented. "France, was it? And in the midst of such an unusually rainy season, too," he said, tutting softly. "One would think you might have been better off staying home, Draco."

"I," Draco began, clearing his throat. "I was checking on one of the Black properties, My Lord."

"Oh, of course," the Dark Lord confirmed, giving Draco another eerie smile. "I'm aware. Surely you haven't managed to forget, Draco," he murmured, so quietly the other Death Eaters shifted in discomfort. "There is so little that Lord Voldemort does not know."

Beside him, Theo's spine was impossibly rigid, his face still artfully posed.

"I've not forgotten, My Lord," Draco said, manufacturing humility as he lowered his head. "As for Daphne," he added, taking a risk with a return to the subject, "if you'd like me to speak to other members of our class at Hogwarts - "

"How very proactive of you, Draco," Lord Voldemort cut in smoothly, before shifting his gaze to Theo. "And you, Theodore?" he prompted, eyeing him expectantly. "Do you have any thoughts on the matter?"

Theo's grimace deepened, carving itself into the sunken edges of his cheeks. "I never pretend to have any thoughts of merit, My Lord," he replied wryly, shaking his head. "I simply trust that if my services are required, you will ask."

"Indeed," the Dark Lord agreed, tapping his skeletal fingers on the table. "Trust is ever so important," he added, lifting a silver goblet to his lips; the red of the wine stained the edges of his teeth, and as his incisors cut against his lip Draco could have sworn the drops that seeped from them were blood. "I'd hate to think what it would mean if I ever had to do without."

* * *

Hermione sat in bed long after Draco had gone, slowly reconsidering her answer to his question.

 _Do you want me to do this?_

To blame the Order; to put Harry under scrutiny; to risk her own life.

 _Do you want me to do this?_

To blame the Order _again_ ; to put Harry under scrutiny _again_ ; to risk her own life _again -_ and now Draco's life, too.

She sighed, bringing her knees in and resting her chin on top of them.

It was different now, and yet entirely the same; everything was different, and yet nothing had changed. She'd thought the first time around that she'd had everything taken from her; that it had all disappeared, torn from her one by one, and the harder she'd held on the more she'd lost until she'd finally been stripped of everything - and yet here she was, suffering it twice.

What does a person do after they've discovered they can lose everything and still rise? Do they hold on tighter, or do they eventually learn to let go?

"We're experts in losses," she heard a voice remark behind her. "And yet we never really got good at it, did we?"

She shifted around, blinking. "Bill," she murmured, and he tilted his head, sitting on the bed beside her.

"You don't think about me often," he commented, and she shook her head.

"It never does much good," she replied, fighting a sudden chill and drawing her knees in closer. "And anyway," she added, half to herself, "I know you're not real."

"I was once," he said, eyeing her as she shifted away from him. "I was real enough for you that you can still bring me to mind."

She said nothing, closing her eyes.

"What am I now?" he asked. "A memory?" He paused, but she didn't look up. "A ghost?"

She heard him shift closer, imagined the smell of him, the rustle of him that nudged at her like the wind through a network of branches.

"Am I a notch in your column of losses?" he whispered, and she rose to her feet with a sudden need to escape, throwing the door open and padding down the stairs.

"Harry," she said, a soft plea in her voice as he turned. "I - "

"Fucking hell," she heard; a new voice. "Fuck, Granger."

She turned to see Pansy Parkinson enter the room behind Daphne, her dark eyes wide as she stared.

Hermione swallowed. "Pansy," she murmured, as Harry moved to throw an arm around her shoulders.

"Parkinson," he acknowledged coldly, but Pansy wasn't looking at him; she was staring at Hermione, an odd expression on her face.

"You're - " Pansy, whom Hermione had never seen any less than excessively sure of herself, gaped at her in a stammering fit of shock. "You - I should - PAUL," she shouted, and the elf beside her glanced up.

"Yes, Mistress?" he said, and she jumped, apparently having forgotten he was standing beside her.

"I need you to - to get some things," Pansy said slowly, glancing at Hermione and then quickly forcing her gaze away, apparently unable to maintain eye contact. "Some clothes. She needs clothes." She swallowed, not looking up. "You're about my size, aren't you, Granger?"

Hermione looked down, realizing she was still in Draco's clothes; he'd asked her once if she wanted him to transfigure them for her, but she hadn't felt the need. Now, remembering what she must look like - remembering that she must have paled in comparison to Daphne, who stood off to the side watching with quiet amusement - she realized she must look approximately as haggard as she felt.

"You don't have to," Hermione began, but Pansy held up a hand, shaking her head.

"No - just," she inhaled, clearing her throat and pulling her shoulders back. "Just fucking let me, would you, Granger?"

Hermione glanced at Daphne, eyeing the look that had crept across her face; Daphne gave her a small nod, a wistful form of encouragement, and Hermione forced what must have been an uncomfortable approximation of a smile.

"Thank you," she said softly, and Pansy nodded forcefully, turning briskly to her elf.

"You know where to find things," she said, and Paul nodded. "Thank you," she called after him, as Paul disappeared with a soft pop.

"Fuck, Parkinson," Harry commented, his arm still tight around Hermione's shoulders. "Are you having a stroke?"

"Fuck off, Potter," she said, somewhat lacking in conviction. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Trying not to get murdered," he muttered. "Despite your best efforts," he added, and both Pansy and Daphne grimaced.

"Well, same," Pansy retorted, lifting her nose in the air. "Obviously we have things to talk about," she added, and Daphne nodded, reaching affectionately for her hand. "Which rooms in this house don't have any goddamn Floo networks attached to them?"

"The study," Hermione supplied, and pointed towards it. "Draco's study."

"Huh," Pansy remarked, glancing up. "You're awfully familiar." At the arch in Hermione's brow, Pansy shook her head, holding both hands up in an oddly uncharacteristic surrender. "Sorry," she muttered. "I'm just - I didn't mean to - "

"Is there something you need to say?" Hermione prompted, but Harry interrupted.

"I think Smith's in the study," he cut in gruffly. "Which is not to say we can't still use it, but - "

"What?" Pansy demanded, putting her hands on her hips. "You've just held onto him?"

"As opposed to what?" Harry asked, with an air of Draco's practiced indignation. "Should we have set him loose?"

Pansy muttered something incoherent in response, pulling Daphne after her as she stomped her way to the study. As they walked, Paul reappeared, falling in step beside Hermione.

"Mistress wishes you to have these," Paul said, with what Hermione assumed was a sort of grandiosity for a house elf. "Miss will take these," he added, brandishing a neatly folded pile of clothes at her.

"Oh," Hermione said faintly, and Harry unwound his arm from her shoulder as she accepted them. "That is," she murmured quietly, making a point to tilt the pile towards him, "unless you would like to - "

"Granger," Pansy snapped, pausing to turn over her shoulder. "Are you trying to free my fucking elf?"

"Well," Hermione said, feeling her cheeks flush. "I only - "

"Paul is owing Mistress everythings," Paul protested, looking horrified with Hermione and backing away. "Paul is not wanting to be freed, Miss!"

"I - I was only asking," Hermione said weakly, as Paul grumpily disapparated and Harry chuckled beside her.

"Some things," he murmured to her, brushing his thumb across her cheek. "Some things just never change, do they?"

"Can we focus, please?" Pansy asked, bursting gracelessly through the door. "Get changed, Granger," she tossed over her shoulder, shaking her head. "I can't look at you like this."

"Pans!" Daphne said, aghast. " _Please -_ "

"I can't, okay?" Pansy retorted, hopelessly unapologetic. Hermione, for her part, lingered outside the door after they entered, quickly sorting through the pile of clothing. She selected a few basic items - a sweater that felt like cashmere and a corresponding set of underthings, plus a somewhat impractical skirt that was made of an irresistible, buttery soft material - before following them through the door.

"Oh, hello," Zacharias said happily, still magically tied to the chair they'd left him in. "You again."

"Yes," Pansy said. "Me again, you twat."

"Twat," Zacharias purred, looking tickled.

"Well," Pansy remarked, tucking her hand under her chin. "You're all obviously going to have to make some decisions here." She turned, her eye catching momentarily on Hermione in what appeared to be approval before she zeroed in on Harry. "Daph says you and Draco discussed it?"

"Sort of," Harry grunted back. "Not in any conclusive way," he clarified unhelpfully, and she shrugged.

"He's potentially too valuable to kill," Pansy commented, and Daphne glanced down, her cheeks flushed. "Oh," Pansy said, softening as she reached for her hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to - "

"It's fine," Daphne said, forcing a smile. "Just - still haven't quite, um," she paused, biting her lip. "Recovered, I guess."

"Nott's right," Harry said to her, and Hermione glanced at him in surprise. "Lestrange fucking deserved it."

"I mean, I know," Daphne offered vacantly, and then shook herself of the thought, clearing her throat. "But you think he's valuable, Pans?"

"He's sort of a fixture in Hogsmeade," Pansy replied. "He's a pretty good Snatcher. Good, being, of course," she added, glancing over her shoulder at them, "an _extremely_ relative term."

"He's a bounty hunter," Harry said, shrugging. "Good as in skilled?"

"He's more than a bounty hunter," Daphne corrected, and behind her, Pansy nodded, a tinge of revulsion coloring her features. "He's a hitman, too."

"Oh, delightful," Zacharias crowed, appearing to play with his tongue.

"Hitman?" Harry asked, staring at her. "Since when do - "

"The Dark Lord doesn't perform his own killing curses anymore," Daphne supplied in answer, and Pansy nodded again, quietly agreeing. "Snatchers both hunt _and_ kill now, on his orders."

" _Mostly_ on his orders," Pansy corrected. "Snatchers will sometimes take care of their own marks. Or hunt them down for a payout," she amended, sharing a glance with Daphne. "Whatever turns out more beneficial for them."

Hermione instantly felt sick, dread churning in her stomach. "Since when?" she asked, forcing the words out.

"For the last four years," Pansy said. "At least."

Daphne nodded, slowly exhaling. "Something happened with one of the Dark Lord's kills," she said carefully. "Something went wrong, and he stopped doing it himself."

"Do you know what it was?" Harry asked, and Daphne offered him a weary half smile.

"No," she replied. "But I do know it has something to do with Ginny."

"Ginny," Harry echoed, twitching forward even as Hermione suddenly wished to take several steps back. "You said - "

"I wanted to wait," Daphne interrupted, nodding at Hermione. "You were her friend, too, weren't you?" she asked, and Hermione nodded slowly, a prickling of guilt settling in her stomach as she hoped Harry wouldn't notice the way she couldn't meet his eye. "I wanted you to be here when I told you." Daphne took a deep breath, seeming to center herself, and Pansy seemed to instinctively bite her lip, caught up in the moment of hesitation.

"Ginny," Daphne said, "has been under the Imperius curse for the last four years."

Hermione bent her head, watching Harry bristle beside her. "Under whose command?" he asked flatly, and Daphne looked up, meeting his eye.

"His," she said simply, and Hermione shuddered. "It's not as bad as you might think," Daphne offered, and Pansy scoffed. "No, really," Daphne said morosely, shaking her head. "She's been safe, at least. Untouched." She looked up, meeting Hermione's eye. "You know what I mean," she added quietly, and Hermione nodded; it was a moment of shared fear, an understanding between women, and in the way her hazel eyes went stormy Hermione could see that Daphne knew what it was to worry about such things. "Whatever interest he has in her, it's obsessive. He protects her, and he doesn't let anyone touch her." Daphne grimaced, looking repulsed. "She's a pet as much as that damn snake of his."

Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance before tacitly agreeing to say nothing about Nagini.

"Ginny has the Mark," Daphne added, "though she never leaves his side. It'll be difficult to get to her," she conceded, "and close to impossible." She glanced up, staring at Harry. "But you've done the impossible before, haven't you?"

"Yes," he said, and Hermione could hear in his voice that he was promising Daphne more than he was saying out loud; _let's end this,_ she imagined Harry saying, and felt a thrill in her bones that was equal parts fear and something else dangerous, something nameless, something broken and aching to heal -

 _Hope._

"The _Imperio_ Weasley's under," Pansy said, interrupting. "Is it noticeable?"

Daphne paused, thinking. "Yes," she said, nodding slowly, and Hermione silently agreed, recalling the blank look she'd seen in Ginny's brown eyes at the Ministry. "But I think that's because he only ever gives her one instruction."

"Which is?" Harry said, looking a certain degree of haunted.

"Kill anyone who comes near her," Daphne supplied, and Pansy, who appeared to have stopped listening, hummed softly to herself, bending to look Zacharias in the eye.

"Well," she said, as Zacharias squinted uneasily back at her, "let's just see how you take to it, shall we?"

* * *

"We're going to have to do it," Theo muttered under his breath, passing Draco a sidelong glance as they exited the dining room, trailing well behind the others.

"What?" Draco hissed, keeping his voice low. "You mean - "

"He suspects us," Theo reminded him, the muscle leaping wildly around his jaw. "You fucking know he does."

"Which means he'll _still_ fucking suspect us if we suggest anything," Draco said sharply, casting a wary glance at his feet as he caught Rowle peering around behind him. "We have to be careful, Theo, this can't be traced back to us - "

"I fucking know that," Theo exhaled, a breeze of hushed irritation. "But if we're going to save her life _and_ ours - "

They stopped as Lucius turned over his shoulder, giving Draco a stiff, warning nod before heading into the other room, presumably to continue consulting with the Dark Lord.

"What happened," Draco said between gritted teeth, "to the Theo Nott who was insisting I go back to hiding?" _Cursed from birth,_ he thought, _with blood on our hands -_

"That was different," Theo said, reaching for the Floo powder. "That was before I knew that - "

He stopped, and Draco gripped his wrist. "Knew _what_?" he demanded. "What the fuck has changed your mind all of a sudden?"

Theo stiffened, pulling his hand away. " _You_ did this, Draco," he reminded him, their voices still hushed. "When you took her in, you changed everything - "

"Malfoy," Gosforth said loudly, entering the room behind them. "We need to talk."

"Fuck," Theo swore under his breath, shaking his head before turning to address Gosforth. "Not now - "

"Yes fucking _now_ ," Gosforth snarled, looking around. "But not here. Malfoy Manor," he suggested, and Draco felt his innards twist, remembering that everyone in this house still believed that was his primary residence.

"Fine," Draco said, dragging Gosforth behind them by the collar and stepping into the Floo.

"Well?" Theo prompted, crossing his arms the moment they'd entered the Malfoy sitting room. "What the fuck is it, Gosforth?"

"This is between me and Malfoy," Gosforth told him stubbornly. "I don't know why the fuck you're here to begin with - "

"Theo stays," Draco said flatly, and Gosforth grimaced. "What is it?"

"The girl," Gosforth supplied, taking a step closer. "Granger. I looked her up."

"So?" Draco asked, his heartbeat stuttering forward even as his arms went rigidly corpse-like at his side. "Your point?"

"She's fucking _valuable_ , isn't she?" Gosforth said smugly, triumphant in the knowledge that he'd dug up something of note. "That's why you wanted her. To get credit, didn't you?"

"Credit," Draco echoed, blinking vacantly before permitting the words to sink in. "I'm not a fucking _Snatcher,_ Gosforth," he said, torn between disbelief and rage. "This isn't some kind of fucking bounty hunt - "

"Like hell it's not," Gosforth snorted. " _I'm_ the one who had to take care of her," he added, squaring his shoulders as Draco's gaze flicked helplessly to Theo. " _I'm_ the one who handled the interrogations - "

"And you're the one who killed her," Theo interrupted, and Draco forced himself not to let the startled choking sound in his throat escape his lips.

"What?" Gosforth asked, frowning.

"She didn't make it past three days after the fucking state you left her in," Theo continued, and Draco forced himself to nod his agreement, privately marveling at the ease of Theo's lie. "Got nothing out of her, you ignorant little fuck - "

"Well then why didn't you say anything?" Gosforth demanded. "She was still _worth_ something, and you fucking _knew that -_ "

The fire roared behind them, and Lucius stepped out from the emerald brush of flames. " _Stupefy,_ " Draco muttered, and Theo caught Gosforth's limp body as Draco stepped in front of them, shielding them from view.

"Draco?" Lucius asked in confusion. "What are you - "

"We were just leaving," Draco said quickly, taking hold of Theo's arm and quickly apparating them out of the Manor.

* * *

"Act normal," Pansy instructed, and Zacharias tilted his head, expressionless.

"He's not doing anything," Harry said in frustration, and Hermione sighed.

"Well, of course not," she reminded him, "as he hasn't _got_ a normal anymore, does he?" She turned to Pansy, shaking her head. "I'm not so sure this is such a good idea."

"It's a shit idea, Granger, it doesn't require being the 'brightest witch of our age' to know that," Pansy muttered back, not looking at her. "But we don't know who he was in communication with. We don't know who might get nervous if he stays missing."

"Could we get him normal enough to meet with Rowle?" Harry asked. "He's still in charge of Snatchers, isn't he?"

"Yes," Daphne said, nodding. "But I'm not sure how we could ever prepare Smith for that."

"Say hi to Daphne," Pansy commanded, and Zacharias waved. "Huh," she commented, eyeing him. "I'm not going to lie, I think absolute power suits me."

"There has to be a way we can use him," Harry said, pulling anxiously at the long fibers of his beard. "I mean, he has resources, there's got to be a way we can find a way in - "

 _I just find it a smoother course, I think,_ Hermione heard Luna whisper from somewhere in the depths of her memory, _to try to imitate something familiar than force my way in from the outside -_

 _To match the requisite pieces of something, you could say -_

 _Understand what it's made of, and use that to find a way in -_

"What we need," Hermione said slowly, letting the realization dawn, "is another Snatcher."

Harry frowned. "But how - "

"I could definitely get him normal enough to have a beer at the Hog's Head," Pansy determined, waving her wand to wordlessly make Zacharias sit back down on his chair. "I can watch and see who approaches him."

"And then what?" Daphne asked, throwing her hands up. "We kidnap another person?"

"Kidnapping sounds so juvenile," Pansy said, feigning a yawn. "But yes, essentially."

"Harry's right," Hermione reminded them. "Smith has resources - but more than that, he _broke patterns,_ " she said emphatically. "He was chasing Harry and me on his own, and who knows who else - which means we need to know how things work in order to know how Smith was operating outside them."

"Do we _find_ one," Harry began, "or do we - " he stopped, gesturing to Zacharias. "Make one?"

Hermione hesitated. "We do what we have to," she said eventually.

At that, Pansy shook her head. "Damn, Granger," she said, whistling softly. "You really are the brains of this thing - " She paused, watching Zacharias attempt to messily drink a glass of water. "Get over here, Potter," Pansy sighed, shaking her head. "We're going to have to teach him how to be human again - "

" _I'm_ not Imperiused, Parkinson, you'll have to say please," Harry muttered, though he consented to come when called, wrapping Zacharias' hands around the handle of the glass.

Hermione moved to join them but paused as she heard a rustle beside her, a reminder of Daphne's quiet presence in the room.

"You're a natural criminal, you know," Daphne murmured to her. "It's a shame you were born one of the good guys."

Hermione shook her head, fighting a snort of derision. "I have to be good at something," she said drily. "Adapt to survive, I suppose, since I'm utter rubbish with people." She stopped, glancing at Daphne's indulgent smile. "Unlike you," she added quietly.

Daphne sighed, but didn't flinch. "Likability is an art," she said, pairing the statement with a languid shrug. "I was blessed with chameleonic tendencies."

"Must be nice," Hermione remarked, half to herself. Daphne glanced up, shaking her head.

"Said the genius to the murderer," she replied, and straightened, drawing her chin up in a stunning portrait of defiance. "We all learn our own ways to survive."

* * *

Draco apparated them directly into his study, landing with a soft pop beside where Potter and Pansy appeared to be teaching Smith how to hold a fork.

"Now _that,_ " Pansy said, her dark gaze settling on Gosforth's face, "is a kidnapping."

"What the fuck is this?" Potter asked, jutting his chin out. "A kid?"

"That's no kid," Daphne said, stepping forward with Hermione at her side. "That's Damon Gosforth." She made a somewhat muted face of disgust before glancing up, looking worriedly at Draco. "What happened?"

"He was asking too many questions," Draco supplied gruffly, turning his attention to Hermione and pausing abruptly as he noticed that she was dressed, somehow, in women's clothing; he realized he'd never seen her in anything but the rags he'd found her in or his own clothes, and felt his breath catch momentarily. _You look,_ he wanted to say, but couldn't finish the thought - she gave him a tentative smile, her cheeks warming as their eyes met.

"Hey," Theo said, snapping his fingers in Draco's face. "Focus."

"He was asking about - " Draco inhaled sharply, then breathed out. "Hermione," he said, swallowing. "He was - "

"One of the Death Eaters," Hermione realized aloud, finally taking in the view of Gosforth's face. "One of the people who - " She stopped, bringing a hand to her mouth.

 _Tormenter,_ Draco thought with fury, _captor -_

"Want my wand?" Pansy suggested, holding it out lazily. "I imagine you could do some much needed damage."

"Don't need a wand for that," Hermione muttered, her fingers tightening to a fist. "But somehow this doesn't seem fair."

Draco watched the coldness in her gaze, remembered what she'd been through, felt the taste of her desperation on his tongue.

"We'll have to Obliviate him," Draco said, forcing aside his sudden need to tear Gosforth's chest open, to strike gracelessly at his worthless core. "Figure out how to get him home - "

"Or," Theo cut in loudly. "Not."

Draco glanced at him, arching a skeptical brow. "Not?"

"Not," Theo confirmed, nodding. "You wanted a way to send a message to the Dark Lord without it being connected to us," he reminded him, gesturing to Gosforth. "Here it is."

"What?" Draco said, blinking. "How - "

"If we want to blame the Order for Daphne's kidnapping, we have to fucking commit," Theo said bluntly. "Prove it's not just a convenient excuse to hide a murder."

"So what, then?" Potter prompted, kicking Gosforth's heel. "What's this little shit got to do with it?"

"A message from a hostage will go a long way," Theo explained slowly. "If Gosforth delivers it, he has no connection with us _or_ you."

"He's connected to me," Hermione said slowly, frowning, and Theo waved a hand.

"You're dead," he informed her, and she opened her mouth but then closed it, evidently deciding her opposition could wait. "But you know who isn't?"

Their eyes swiveled to Potter's in unison.

"Right," Potter agreed. "I see."

* * *

It felt like years before Draco took her in his arms again; he held her close, burying his nose in her shoulder.

"You look beautiful," he whispered to her, his voice hoarse and vulnerable, strong and certain all at once. "But you kind of smell like - "

"Pansy," Hermione sighed, tangling her fingers in his hair and nodding. "She insisted."

"Odd," he commented. "I'm not opposed to the outfit, but - "

"Odd," Hermione echoed. "I agree." She leaned back, letting him press her against the wall and stretching out against him. "How was it?" she asked, trailing a finger along his lip.

"Terrible," Draco muttered. "Absolute shit."

"Which part?"

"All of it," he said, brushing his lips along her neck. "And now I have a house full of vigilantes who all seem to possess their own very special death wish." He seemed to seek her out blindly, by touch instead of sight as he brought his lips to hers and kissed her, a kiss so slow and patient that she was surprised to find she had to catch her breath.

"Poor thing," she whispered, letting him slide his hands under her sweater as she reached up to smooth his hair back from his face. "It's hard having to lead the new Order, isn't it?"

"It's not the new Order," he growled, bucking his hips against hers. "Don't call it that."

"Why - "

He kissed her again, more fiercely this time, and it was no surprise when the air in her lungs threw itself willingly to the captivity of his touch, her chest rising and falling against his. _Today,_ his fingers sang against her skin, brushing up her ribs and taking root; _together,_ she sighed into his soul, spilling out a gasp and then refilling, emptied to a void only to float; _we rise,_ they swore in unison, in pressure, in insistence, in hands over hearts, in fluency, in precision, _inevitability and punishment -_

 _We rise,_

 _We rise,_

 _We rise -_

"Tell me a story," he suddenly begged, his hands shaking as he reached up to cup her jaw. "Tell me what I missed, or I'm going to have to fuck you here with them" - he jerked his head in recognition - "right on the other side of this wall - "

"Once there was a very rich man," she said, coiling her fingers in his robes, "who was not kind or handsome, and so was not much admired, nor much a prize."

"Hate him already," Draco muttered, his lips against her cheek.

"Being, however, in possession of great fortune, and even greater favor from the king, he took a very young, very beautiful wife, and in an attempt to woo her despite her lack of affection, he handed her a set of keys," she continued, "to his great wardrobes, to his jewels and coins, to the rooms which contained his finest furniture and most lavish riches. But in doing so, he also gave her the key to his little closet of secrets, which he forbade his young wife to enter."

Draco kissed her again - biting softly on her lip - and rested his forehead against hers, quietly listening.

"But a man who offers a key cannot trust a door to stay locked, and his young wife, left to her own devices, was quick to see into his secrets; there she found the skeletons he'd hung in his closet, the many bloodied wrongs of his past, and she found she could not rid herself of what she'd seen. And she could not hide the horror from her face," Hermione went on, "nor the blood from her conscience, and so her husband could see in an instant precisely which door she'd unlocked."

"Because a man may have riches, and a man may have fortune," she whispered, "but a man with secrets is bound to be undone by the skeletons he tries to hide - "

 _I'm sorry,_ she'd said to Daphne, _I'm sorry for what he did to you -_

 _He's paid,_ Daphne had replied. _And soon, so will the others._

" - and a pretty young wife who wields a blade makes a fine jury and judge," she finished, and Draco pulled her in close, pressing his lips to her ear.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, and she closed her eyes, wondering if she should tell him about Bill; tell him about the voices she heard and the people she saw, real or false; tell him about the things that she knew, true or not; tell him about the aching in her chest that she knew was the fear she was sick with.

"Yes," she lied, slipping her arms around his neck and wishing magic had ever been enough to keep them there.

* * *

"Do you know who I am, Damon Gosforth?" Potter asked, kneeling to meet the teenager's eye. The room had been stripped of its furniture and charmed with an entirely different appearance, Potter himself cleaned and shaved; Gosforth had never been there, had never seen him, but they certainly weren't going to take any chances.

"No," Gosforth spat, teeth clenched as he struggled against his restraints. "And I don't care."

"Oh, but you really should," Potter murmured, his green eyes flashing as he held his wand to Gosforth's temple. "I think you know someone who will want to hear it."

"Do I?" Gosforth demanded, his hair falling into his eyes. "And why the fuck is that?"

"Because I'm Harry Potter," Potter replied with a cutting smile, "and you can tell your master that I'm never going to motherfucking die."

* * *

 **a/n:** Story inspiration from _Bluebeard_ by Charles Perrault; altered, of course, as I have never been fond of deus ex machina endings, and I'm inclined to think Hermione would agree. Dedicated to somekindofwildgirl - I thoroughly enjoyed watching you catch up.


	22. The God Guise

**Chapter 22: The God Guise**

* * *

 _ **2002**_

* * *

The Ministry courtroom was even dimmer than usual, leaving them in near darkness where they stood around its perimeter. Below them, Luna Lovegood's hair was illuminated by the faintest of spelled lamplight, glowing like a reflective sliver in the dark. A strand fell into her eye and she slowly looked up, her eyes traveling to rest defiantly not on the Dark Lord, who stood before her, but on the eyes of every masked Death Eater in the room. Her pale gaze slid over Draco's for a moment, nearly passing him in apparent disinterest, but when she seemed to recognize him beneath the mask she paused for the span of a breath.

 _His_ breath, which was shallow and sharp, and then she looked away.

Part of Draco knew, instinctively, that Potter was coming. The battle-tested version of Loony Lovegood had shed its former dottiness, leaving her creature-like, ethereal, appraising them not as they were - men in a room, herself in chains, all of them the muted audience to her certain demise - but as though she were seeing them through a crystal ball, her head tilted slightly, the slightest smile on her lips as though she'd already seen what came next, and it was grim.

So yes, Draco thought. Part of him knew that Potter was coming.

He found he was anxious, nervous, unsettled; _afraid_. Not of Potter, of course. Draco still permitted himself the arrogance to believe he could best him handily if he tried. No, it was, if anything, a fear that Potter would not come. That in a moment, a hooded dementor would be free to consume a helpless woman's soul as a madman stood by watching, smiling, his thin lips hooked around his incisors as Draco was compelled to silently do his bidding. That Draco himself would stand by, his fingers stiff against his wand as he witnessed injustice, and that despite the gurgling of his sickened conscience he, too, would do nothing. That no hero or higher power would intervene; that the look of rebellion on Luna Lovegood's face would slip from her features along with the rest of her, and that no one would have stopped it.

 _Doesn't the Dark Lord suspect,_ Draco had started to say, but Lucius had cut him off.

 _Do your job, Draco,_ Lucius muttered, flicking his wand to secure the mask in place. _You don't get to decide when or how._

The whole of the situation struck Draco as outrageously unwise - the dim light, the close quarters, the whole of a masked army in a single impossibly warded building, a taboo on the one spell that could save them from the more unapologetic demon in the room - but the Dark Lord was a theatrical being. He seemed to suffer from a hedonistic voyeurism; it wasn't enough to know someone was suffering. It wasn't enough to hear about it, or to simply trust that pain was pain.

He had to _watch_.

"Where is he?" the Dark Lord murmured to Lovegood, stepping forward to brush a finger against one of the magical shackles on her wrists. "Are you sure he wants to save you this time?"

"I highly doubt he wants to," Lovegood replied. "But some of us are born for pesky things, don't you think?"

The Dark Lord let out a quiet scoff, toying with her. "Ah, so you're one of those," he commented, bending to look her in the eye. "Tell me," he asked quietly, "why is it that people who believe themselves to be heroes seem to also consider themselves so unnaturally clever?"

She met his eye for a moment, unmoving, and then let her gaze wander around the room; when she eventually opened her mouth, it was difficult to tell who she was speaking to.

"These delusions in our heads," Lovegood remarked placidly. "They bring us to our knees, don't they?"

For a moment, the Dark Lord's eyes flashed, and Draco recognized a genuine flicker of rage in his expression. He reared up, a serpent prepared to strike as his fingers tightened around his wand; but despite looking as though he wished to slap her he instead took a calculated step back, the heavy swish of his robes the only audible sound in the chamber.

"I'm done waiting," he said crisply, and turned on his heel, gesturing above him. "Go," he said, speaking directly to the dementor. "Have her." He glanced back at Lovegood, the grim lines of his mouth sealed tightly. "By all means," he offered coldly, " _feast_."

The dementor slowly swam downwards in the air, the darkness of its cloak billowing behind it as it sank upon Lovegood's form, reaching for her. There was an odd sort of tenderness to the creature's motion, Draco thought; a longing, an eerie starvation, and though its seduction was demented and cruel Draco held his breath as he watched Lovegood tilt her chin up, speaking directly to the thing beneath the hood.

"It's not your fault," she whispered to it. "I know what it's like to want to feel something."

It reached for her again, an inhuman hand that might have stroked her cheek, and then it leaned towards her; Draco, despite all the times he'd mocked Potter for his fear, shivered slightly, wanting to close his eyes.

 _Where is he?_ he thought, and wanted to laugh. _Potter, you arsing shitstain - now would be the fucking time -_

" _EXPECTO PATRONUM,_ " Draco heard, the sound echoing around the room. In an instant, a silvery stag had bounded out from nothing - from _nowhere_ \- and galloped towards the dementor with its head lowered, antlers aimed to skewer the cloaked form as if it were some kind of absurdly antagonistic barbecue.

Draco looked down, catching a faint smile on the Dark Lord's face. He promptly disappeared, and then Potter threw off his invisibility cloak, letting out a loud roar of rage. Draco, who had long since stopped thinking, took a step towards him and -

"Ah-ah- _ah_ ," a voice said in his ear, a wand pointed at his temple as someone wrapped an arm around his neck from behind. "Careful, Mr Death Eater, or I'll be forced to make a mockery of your bones."

Draco stiffened. "Fuck off," he said unhelpfully, quietly taking in the sight of the Death Eaters around the room who were facing a similar predicament from a variety of disillusioned Order members. Across from him, Theo appeared to have been kicked in the chest, thrown backwards into a wall and promptly aiming his wand at the invisible assailant, teeth gritted.

"Manners," the Order member drawled in his ear. "Or will I have to teach you?"

"Again," Draco said, adjusting slightly to throw his elbow into his attacker's ribs, "fuck off."

The invisible Order member choked slightly but Draco felt a rapid blow to his face, a stinging hex that, judging from the laughter ringing from his disillusioned opponent, was intended more to irritate him than anything else.

" _Reducto_ ," Draco muttered in response, drawing a hand to his eye, but it was no use fighting an invisible opponent; he narrowly missed hitting his father, who had materialized a few feet away from him.

"Draco," Lucius snapped, quickly dismantling the spell that shrouded his own Order attacker and then aiming a curse at what appeared to be Neville Longbottom's face. "Stop messing around!"

Draco countered a stunning charm from his opponent and waved it away, forcing himself to focus.

" _Revelio,_ " Draco said quickly, catching the Order member's robe and prompting their disillusionment to ripple slightly, revealing them where they stood. Draco aimed his wand again, preparing for another spell, but was interrupted.

" _Avada Kedavra,_ " Lucius intoned expressionlessly, aiming it at where Draco's opponent had been revealed in the moment that Longbottom was sent reeling, flailing backwards where he stood.

Draco, momentarily stunned, had only a moment to watch the Order member's form appear; the man lay face down, half an expression of exhaustion visible from where his partially-obscured cheek had hit the chamber floor.

Draco took stock of the red hair, the dusting of freckles, the dingy robe. _You must be a Weasley,_ he thought, feeling a numbing paralysis of guilt.

"Draco," Theo shouted, suddenly appearing beside him. "Let's _go -_ "

"Get Potter," Lucius demanded, aiming another curse as Longbottom staggered to his feet; a wayward spell split the marble floor between them and caused the shattered remains to fly up, shards of shrapnel burying themselves in Draco's arm as he reached for Theo's outstretched hand. " _Do not_ disappoint me, Draco!"

"We have to get out," Theo murmured, yanking Draco after him as he growled in pain, his father's parting words ringing ominously in his ears. "Fuck this," Theo gritted out, heading for the door to the courtroom chamber and slashing at the air with his wand as he moved, fighting his way out with little hesitation. "I'm not fucking getting killed this way."

" _This_ way?" Draco asked hazily, aiming a blinding _Protego_ around them as a heavily bleeding Order member aimed another haphazard jinx their way. "You have some other idea how you'd like it to happen?"

They parted momentarily, dropping to the ground as a massive _Expulso_ tore through the ceiling; the blasting curse left a gaping hole over their heads, showering them in a hail of falling debris.

" _Arresto Momentum,_ " Draco yelled, slowing the precipitation of rubble and rolling out of the way as a shard of glass angled itself downwards, poised to fall where his chest had been. He looked up at Theo, watching the other man reach behind his head and then bring his hand in front of his face, eyeing the blood on his fingers with a sour look of disapproval.

"I accept the possibility of death in the name of vengeance," Theo said, panting slightly as he dismantled a hex from over Draco's shoulder and parried with a blasting curse that brought down one of the remaining Ministry pillars, "but I want it to be for my own sins, not my father's - and _certainly_ not the fucking Dark Lord's," he added pointedly, stumbling backwards from the force of a poorly aimed stunning spell to line his shoulders up with Draco's, leaving them back to back with their wands out. "Who, by the way, fucking _left -_ "

"I saw that," Draco said, aiming directly upwards to bring down a series of torches, causing Death Eaters and Order members alike to scatter towards the exits. "It's such a waste, them fucking being here at all," he muttered under his breath as he and Theo turned, tearing unsteadily towards the elevators. "Potter being here is such a fucking _waste,_ not to mention if he's got - "

Draco paused, realizing for the first time who else might still be in the building and coming to an abrupt stop as he blinked away the image of Granger's face, focusing instead on the blood that seeped from a deep cut across the back of Theo's head. "Get out," he said quickly, gripping Theo's arm before he could even process what he was thinking. "The disapparition wards have to be destroyed at this point. You should go."

"What the fuck?" Theo demanded, skidding to a stop half a step ahead of him. "Why?"

"I'll be right behind you," Draco said, casting another _Protego_ to counter the impact of a nearby reductor curse. "Just _go_."

Theo gave him a withering look, frustratingly rooted in place. "Don't be a fucking hero, Draco," he said, reaching up to wipe at the diluted mixture of blood and sweat that trickled down from his hairline. "There's more than enough of those in the building as it is."

"I'm not a hero," Draco assured him, tasting blood of his own from a crack in his lip and laughing, a guttural sound that tore itself from somewhere in the depths of his chest. "Just go, Theo, I swear. I'm right behind you."

Theo shook his head at that, his green eyes narrowed behind his mask as he stared back with solemn, withheld fury. "Someday," Theo spat, shaking his head. " _Someday_ you'll figure out you've never once been able to lie to me."

"Theo, you're fucking bleeding," Draco reminded him, pointing at the Floo. "Get - _the fuck_ \- out." At Theo's hardened look of stubborn refusal, Draco laughed again, hysterically this time, before letting it devolve to a sound that was half a groan, half a burdened sigh. "Theo," he begged. "Please."

Theo grimaced, but raised his wand; he was hesitating, but teetering on the brink of obeying. "If you don't make it out of here," he warned, "I'll bring you back just to break your fucking kneecaps, Draco. If this is about what Lucius said - "

"It's not," Draco said firmly. "And If I don't make it out of here," he promised Theo, reaching out to grip his shoulder, "I promise to haunt you for the rest of your very long, exceedingly miserable life."

Theo shook his head and scowled, giving Draco one last long look before raising his wand, wrenching himself away and disapparating with a barely audible crack.

"Now," Draco murmured to himself, dispelling an errant curse and taking off at a stuttered run. "Where the fuck are you, Potter?"

* * *

 _ **2005 (Present)**_

* * *

"Father," Draco said, stepping purposefully through the Floo to the sitting room of Malfoy Manor and searching around in the wards for where he might be. "Father," he called again, striding into the hall. "I need to talk to you."

He headed for Lucius' study, flicking his wand with a _Lumos_ and letting the sound of his footsteps echo through the corridors. Light glowed from the door that was left ajar and he strode in without hesitation, leaving the door wide behind him.

"Father," he said again, a bit irritated this time as he caught sight of Lucius' shoulders from where he sat stiffly at his desk. "Were you going to let me run around the house shouting?"

Lucius scoffed quietly, leaving his back to Draco. "You clearly knew I was here," he said slowly. "Was it necessary for me to come to you?"

Draco grimaced. "You're in a good mood, then."

Lucius turned around, rubbing wearily at his temple before glancing up at Draco from his seat.

"It's the middle of the night, Draco," he muttered. "What is it?"

Draco inhaled slowly, letting his lungs fill as he toyed with his wording. "Well," he said, clearing his throat. "I came here to tell you something, Father." He paused, watching for Lucius' response. "I need to know what side you're on."

Lucius' frown deepened. "Draco," he warned, tutting quietly. "What have you done?"

"I need to know, Father," Draco began, glossing over the accusation, "that if pressed, you will maintain that I have always lived here at the Manor. And," he added carefully, "that this is where I brought Granger, and that this is where she died."

Lucius leaned towards him with a mechanical urgency, his fingers tightening around the arms of his chair as he fought the impulse to launch out of his seat. "What?"

"It's really quite simple, Father," Draco informed him placidly, leaning his palms onto Lucius' desk. "Either you are concerned with my safety and you will agree with the situation as I relay it to you, or you choose your master over your son." He arched a brow. "Which is it?"

Lucius' face filled with a disparagingly patronizing expression of irritation.

"Draco," he said slowly. "I have always protected you, have I not?"

"Is that really what you think?" Draco asked, scoffing. "You've covered for me, certainly," he agreed, "and you've lied for me out of self-preservation - but have you really convinced yourself that I've ever actually been _protected_?" he finished, unable to prevent a mirthless laugh.

"Draco," Lucius snarled, rising to his feet. Draco watched his eyes flick to where his wand lay upon his desk and then back up, his fingers fidgeting temptingly at his side as he glared at his son. "What is this about?"

"You find me disappointing, don't you?" Draco asked, eye to eye with his father. "The day of the Ministry raid," he added pointedly, ignoring his father's obvious twitch of disapproval at being reminded. "You killed my attacker for me." He tilted his head, giving Lucius a searching glance. "Why?"

Lucius gritted his teeth, cornered. "This is a foolish waste of time," he pronounced stiffly. "Say what you want to say and be done with it, Draco."

"It's really very simple, Father," Draco said, leaning towards him. "Either you did it because you love me, because you want to protect me, and that's why you'll keep my secrets now," he postulated, and paused. " _Or_ ," he countered emphatically, "you think I'm weak, and you killed him because you knew I wouldn't."

For a moment Lucius paused, struggling with something that could have been equally indecision or rage; then, as he met Draco's eye, something hardened, the scowl on his face carving itself deeper into the features that were so like Draco's own.

"Yes," Lucius said eventually, and then leaned into his anger, dropping a heavy fist against the wood of his desk. " _Yes,_ Draco, I find you disappointing. I find it _humiliating,_ " he added, his grey eyes flashing, "that despite how I have raised you - despite the countless privileges I have provided for you - you are _soft_ ," he spat. "You are _my son_ , and yet you are weak, you are spineless, you are - "

"Yes," Draco cut in sharply. "Yes, I am all of those things," he agreed, "but _especially_ your son." He smiled, and at the look of fury on his father's face, his smile broadened. "Just because an _Avada_ can pass so easily through your lips, Father, it doesn't make you any less weak."

Lucius drew back, his gaze flicking instinctively to his wand again. "You accuse me of weakness, Draco?" he demanded.

"You're a goddamn _puppet_ , Father," Draco snapped. "You are a _servant,_ " he continued, feeling himself surrender to a breathless rant, "and you bend to the whims of a man who has taken more from you than he has ever given - "

"Watch your mouth, Draco," Lucius interrupted frantically, his gaze darting around the room as though the Dark Lord might have somehow heard. "You have no idea what you're saying - you cannot _imagine_ the consequences - "

"What's more important to you, Father?" Draco prompted as Lucius appeared to visibly bite his tongue, forcing down a heavy swallow. "It's a simple question. Mother chose, you know," he added, giving Lucius a testing glance. _The huntsman could not be held responsible for the child's life,_ he heard Hermione say in his ear, _could not cause her to suffer the way his own child might surely suffer._ "She chose me over the Dark Lord."

Lucius frowned, shifting back at the mention of her. "No," he protested stubbornly. "No, Narcissa - she wouldn't - "

"She did," Draco said simply. "Potter survived," he reminded his father. "Who was it who told the Dark Lord he was dead?"

"I," Lucius said, and stopped; Draco imagined he was hearing his own voice. _You said he was dead, Narcissa,_ Draco recalled, seeing first his mother's apathetic shrug and then the hidden widening of her blue eyes as they met his. _Narcissa, you said he was dead!_

"I was a man who ran too, Father," Draco murmured, leaning towards him. "Whatever else is in my blood, that's what makes me your son. But now," he said, his fingers twitching around his wand, "I choose to be _her_ son." He met his father's gaze - a matching storm of colorlessness - and called forth whatever he possessed of Narcissa's ghost, forcing his father to bear witness.

"What do you choose, Father?" Draco asked.

Lucius hesitated, opening his mouth -

And then his grey eyes flicked to the wand on his desk, his hips angling ever so slightly towards it in a telling motion of refusal.

"Thank you," Draco remarked coolly, raising his wand. "That's exactly what I needed to hear."

Lucius had his hand on his wand with an unbelievable quickness; a benefit, Draco supposed, of having spent so many years as the plaything of a Dark Lord. Lucius' eyes narrowed as he aimed the wand at his son, opening his mouth.

" _Stupefy,_ " Draco heard from beside him, and Lucius abruptly fell forward, his head slamming into the wood of his desk as he sprawled out against it, unconscious.

"A bit overeager, as usual," Draco commented, glancing at his right, where he assumed Potter's cloaked form had been standing. "I'd have liked a chance at finding out what spell he planned to use on me, you know."

"You're right," Potter said coolly, discarding the cloak and walking over to Lucius' stunned form. "I might have really enjoyed watching whatever twisted punishment he found fitting for you, Malfoy," he conceded, "so I may have done us both a disservice."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Thanks," he said drily. "I'm really enjoying the delightful fragility of this alliance."

Potter ignored him, "I didn't know you knew that about Narcissa," he commented, glancing up at him. "I assume Hermione told you that?"

Draco fought a smirk. "In a sense," he said, walking over to stand beside him. "In any case," he commented, not looking up. "I appreciate the restraint you showed in not just killing us both and taking off."

Potter shrugged. "Unfortunately, I doubt Hermione would have been thrilled with that particular course of action," he said. "Though, to be clear, whatever affection she has for you, I don't share it."

"Shocking," Draco ruled, arching a brow. Potter shrugged again.

"So," Potter ventured carefully. "About what we discussed."

 _I'll modify his memory if he refuses,_ Draco had said, certain that he possessed the most aptitude for the spell. _I would imagine that will be sufficient -_

 _Unless it isn't,_ Potter replied grimly.

Draco hated to agree with him, but it seemed unavoidable.

"You heard him," Draco sighed, grimacing. "Even if I alter his memory to think Hermione's dead, that doesn't mean he won't cause problems. Left to his own devices, who knows - " he broke off, shaking his head. "Lucius Malfoy is the Dark Lord's most faithful servant," Draco muttered, with slightly more bitterness than he intended. "A consummate Death Eater. Once the Dark Lord finds Gosforth, there's no telling what he'll do."

Potter nodded, and Draco inhaled slowly, aiming his wand at his father's temple.

He closed his eyes, focusing on the particular memories he wanted withdrawn; the Dark Lord would almost certainly try legilimency, which meant that existing memories were entirely suspect. Luckily, Gosforth's modification the few hours prior had been practice enough. The moment he murmured the spell, he could feel the strands of his father's memory bending, twisting; fighting him for a moment, and then withering, resigned. The mind, Draco had learned, was like any other being; more comfortable to exist within the grip of a current than to rail against it.

"Done," Draco said, his eyes fluttering open. He took a step back, slightly dizzied, and Potter reached out to grip his shoulder.

"You sure?" he asked. "There's no love lost on my end, obviously, but - "

"Do it," Draco said, not wanting to spend any more time thinking about it.

Potter nodded, raising his wand.

" _Imperio,_ " he murmured.

* * *

"I fucking hate this," Theo said, pacing the floor of Draco's study. "This is bullshit," he added unnecessarily, tossing an accusatory glare at Hermione as if she were somehow responsible. "I should be there with him."

"You heard him," Hermione sighed. "Lucius might recognize you in the wards. Draco wants the upper hand."

"Yes, I fucking heard him," Theo retorted, rounding on her. "But _still._ Potter?" he scoffed. "He's like a walking explosion. If something goes wrong - "

"This one seems twitchy," Ginny commented, gesturing to where Theo continued to babble to himself, and Hermione jumped, staring at her.

"What?" Theo said, catching the motion and pausing. He frowned, eyeing her. "What just happened?"

"Oh good," Ginny said brightly, pulling her knees towards her chest and resting her chin on top of them. "Now he has something else to worry about."

"Nothing," Hermione said quickly, resolutely not looking at where her mental conception of Ginny sat, eyeing her own toenails for a moment before looking up to wink at her. "Nothing happened."

Theo's eyes narrowed. "Are you still - " he gestured ambiguously. "You know."

"I think he wants to know if you're still hearing voices," Ginny commented innocently.

Hermione shut her eyes, swearing under her breath. "Shut up," she said tightly, finding Theo staring at her.

"It's not Potter still, is it?" Theo asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Have you told Draco?"

"No," Hermione said wearily, "and no." She looked over; Ginny was gone, and she breathed out a sigh of relief.

Every visible muscle around Theo's mouth went rigid, his green eyes flashing. "You have to tell him," he said flatly. "How many secrets are you keeping from him?"

"The same number as you," Hermione shot back, glaring at him. "And I thought it was handled," she added, though that was in part a lie; she'd scarcely had a moment to actively wonder since Harry's reappearance. "I thought it had stopped."

Theo took a deep breath, sitting down beside her. "I take it that it doesn't happen when Draco's with you, then," Theo said, and Hermione shook her head.

"No," she admitted. "It's - I don't know."

"A coping mechanism," Theo supplied. "Fine," he sighed, spreading his fingers against his thighs. "Sp it happens. But you have to fix it," he informed her. "Deal with it."

"How?" Hermione demanded, turning to face him. "Do you really think that if I knew how to fix it, I wouldn't have done something about it by now?"

"Uh, yeah, kind of," Theo said somewhat snottily, turning his head to flash her a dubious look. "I mean, you see people that you love, don't you?"

She bit back a _yes_ , Bill's face coming pointedly to mind. "Sort of."

"So is it possible, then," Theo suggested, "that maybe you don't actually want them to go away?"

"No," Hermione said stubbornly.

Theo glanced at her, frowning slightly.

"Fine," she sighed. "Maybe."

"God, how indulgent of you," Theo muttered, rolling his eyes. "A _maybe_."

"You know, if it bothers you so much that I'm keeping things from Draco," Hermione said slowly, "why don't you just tell him?"

"Eh, he's a fool," Theo remarked, leaning back. "Let him stay a fool if he wants."

Hermione pursed her lips, eyeing him. "You're lying."

"So are you," Theo countered lazily.

Hermione sighed. "Fine," she said. "I find them sort of helpful. It's Ginny," she said, glancing at him. "Sometimes Luna, sometimes - " she broke off, coughing. "You know. Other people."

She stumbled into a pause, and Theo turned his head.

"You know, seven years is a long time," Theo drawled eventually, giving her a pointed look. "If you've got any sort of gentlemen buried in your subconscious, there's no need to hide it. I assure you," he added regally, waving a hand. "Draco did not spend the last seven years practicing any sort of abstention."

Hermione felt her cheeks flush. "Bill," she said quietly, clearing her throat. "Weasley."

"The oldest one?" Theo said. "Huh."

"It was - brief," she explained. "Sort of."

"Oh, I'm not judging you," Theo offered, shrugging. She squinted at him; he wasn't. "I just assumed it was Potter."

"Oh," Hermione said, touching a hand to the warmth of her cheek. "No, that never happened. He was with Luna - "

"Lovegood?" Theo asked, looking suddenly informed. "Huh," he said again.

"But I haven't seen Bill since the raid at the Ministry," Hermione murmured, biting her lip. "In fact," she added, "the last time I saw him, he was duelling Ginny."

"Ginny," Theo repeated. "But then that means - " He turned, staring at her as recognition seemed to dawn. "Fuck, Granger," he said, shaking his head. "How many secrets have you been keeping?"

"It wasn't going to help for Harry to know," Hermione retorted defensively, unsure why her volume had suddenly risen several decibels. "It was hard enough for him to lose Luna, and then for him to have to deal with whatever had happened to Ginny - "

"But _you_ had to know," Theo reminded her. " _You_ had to deal with that knowledge."

"Yes, and I dealt with it," Hermione said firmly. "I've _been_ dealing with it - "

"Fuck," Theo cut in, half laughing at her. "You've been fucked up since long before the Snatchers took you, haven't you?"

"I wasn't hearing voices, if that's what you mean," Hermione muttered. "I was just - "

"Just living a life of complete turmoil, that's what," Theo supplied grimly. "The last time you saw Weasley he was fighting for his life against his cursed sister, and that was _years_ ago. And now - " he paused, thinking. "I get it," he said after a moment. "I get why you're not telling Draco about the centaur bedtime story."

"It's not a bedtime story," Hermione sighed reflexively, and then glanced at him, processing what he'd said. "What do you mean you 'get it'?"

"The last person you loved is a complete mystery," Theo said. "Nobody knows whether he's alive or dead. The person you love _most_ ," he added, gesturing ambiguously to where Harry had been, "was taken from you, and even while you were with him, you were still keeping secrets to protect him." He waved a hand. "I get it. You don't want to lose Draco."

"I already said that," she reminded him, and he shrugged.

"Well, I didn't really believe you at the time," he admitted. "But now I do. You're fucked up, Granger," he added, grinning mercilessly at her. "Just irrevocably _fucked_ , aren't you?"

"Oh, and what's your excuse, then?" Hermione countered, glaring at him. "You're keeping things from him too, aren't you?"

"Yes," Theo said flatly, and stopped. Hermione glared expectantly at him, and he rolled his eyes.

"Fine," he conceded. "The truth is that I think knowing what the story contains would be needlessly hard on Draco. He's always had to live up to something, you know?" he said, and Hermione nodded. "First his father, then the Dark Lord - between the two of them, he's always had something he's been obligated to do."

"And now?" Hermione prompted, and Theo shrugged.

"I think," Theo said slowly, "that Draco's on the brink of thinking for himself. Of doing things because he believes in them," he clarified, "and because he thinks they're the right thing. He needs that." Theo looked down, fidgeting with his fingers. "Draco needs something to actually believe in - _for once_ ," he added darkly.

"What about you?" Hermione asked pointedly. "Are you really so sure this is the right thing?"

Theo shrugged.

"It's been long enough in this hellscape," he said, grimacing. "Believe me, I want to see Draco involved in putting an end to it." He gave her a pointed glance. "I just want him to do it of his own volition, and not because some divine horses suggested he was meant to."

Hermione took a moment to appreciate the sentiment, smiling at him where he sat staring at his lap. "Huh," she commented neutrally, nudging him. He groaned, glaring at her.

"Don't," he muttered. "If you're going to be overly impressed with something, let it be my intellect. Or my dick," he suggested, gesturing. "But certainly don't let it be my morals, or whatever else you think this is - "

"Fine," Hermione sighed, shaking her head. "But what about you, then?" she pressed, nudging him a second time. "Draco needs something to believe in, but you don't?"

Something pulled at Theo's mouth then; a moment of truth, Hermione thought.

"I never needed anything," Theo said, and she heard it for the confession that it was. "I've always had him."

* * *

"It's weird," Potter remarked, keeping pace beside him as they walked. "I feel oddly responsible for him now."

"Well, you are," Draco said, shrugging. "If you decided to tell him to forget how to breathe, he would."

Potter made a face, letting the statement sink in. "I see what Pansy said about power," he commented eventually. "I think it suits me, too."

"Don't get carried away," Draco muttered, pushing open a door. "What suits you is silence."

"You know, if you're going to be the leader of the new Order of the Phoenix, you'll really need to improve your attitude," Potter informed him, and Draco let out a loud groan of frustration. "You're responsible for morale, you know."

"First of all, this is _not_ the Order," Draco told him. "And secondly, whatever it is, I'm not the leader of it."

"Am I, then?" Potter asked, and rather than answer, Draco stopped, lifting his wand and turning to aim it directly into Potter's chest.

"You're fucking with me," Draco said, nudging the point of his wand against Potter's sternum and glaring as ominously as he knew how. "I don't care for it."

"Oh, put that away, Malfoy," Potter sniffed, knocking the wand aside and striding past him into the room. "If you're going to be the leader of the- "

"For fuck's sake," Draco growled, shoving him. "You're doing this intentionally."

"I would never," Potter countered airily, though he looked distinctly impish as he said it. "Anyway," he added, squinting around the room. "What are we doing here?"

"Getting Granger a wand," Draco supplied, walking over to a small set of drawers that sat nestled against the far wall. "After the war - " he paused, finding the wording unsettling. "Well, I suppose it's not really over, is it - "

"I get it," Potter said from behind him, waving a hand. "Continue."

"In any case, what I should really say is that after you very rudely stole my wand," Draco began snidely, and then paused, turning to glance at the wand in Potter's hand. "Wait," he said, frowning. "Is that it?"

Potter tucked it behind his back. "No," he said, clearly lying.

Draco let out an exasperated sigh. " _Anyway,_ " he continued, "I got a new one, and then I saved my mother's," he explained. "I put it in this room with some of her other things after she died."

"Oh, that reminds me," Potter said, snapping his fingers as though he'd just remembered. "You know how You-Know-Who's got that unbeatable wand?" Draco shuddered, nodding. "That's actually yours. Or, well, it _was_ yours," Potter corrected himself. "Not anymore."

Draco pursed his lips for a moment, considering the statement.

"What," he pronounced slowly, "the fuck."

"Eh, it's kind of a long story," Potter told him, gesturing to the drawers. "So anyway, back to Narcissa's wand - "

"No," Draco snapped. "What the fuck do you mean the Dark Lord's unbeatable wand was mine?"

"Uh," Potter said. "Well, like I said, it's sort of a long - " he paused, tilting his head. "Actually, it's not. It was Dumbledore's, right?" Draco shrugged, apathetic. "Yeah, well, you disarmed him in the Astronomy Tower, so the wand was yours. But _then,_ " Potter continued, "I disarmed _you_ , so it's mine now. Or should be - or, at least, it was at one point, unless wands can change allegiances over time." Potter stared into nothing for a moment, then shrugged. "Wandlore," he said flippantly. "Tricky business."

"I," Draco replied uncomfortably, "cannot begin to know how to respond to that."

"Well, tuck it away for some other time, then," Potter said, and then tilted his head slightly, thinking. "Though it's not entirely irrelevant to the point at hand."

Draco arched a brow. "Are you sure about that?"

"Well, the 'wand chooses the wizard' or whatever, doesn't it?" Potter continued. "So how do you know Narcissa's wand is going to work for Hermione?"

"I don't," Draco said, crouching to find the small box and withdrawing it from the spelled set of drawers. "But it's better than nothing, isn't it?"

He pulled the box open, eyeing his mother's wand. "Ash wood," he murmured to himself, picking it up to look at it. "Unicorn hair." He swallowed, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. "Hard to believe this is all that's left of her."

Potter crouched beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder as Draco wrapped his fingers around the wand.

"Well, there's you, too," Potter murmured, and Draco gave him a hardened look of weary skepticism. "Yeah, I know, but I tried," Potter agreed, smirking. "Anyway," he continued, straightening, "I think that Narcissa would have done just about anything for you, so if you choose Hermione to have her wand, then - " he stopped, his grip tightening briefly on Draco's shoulder before releasing him. "I think it'll work for her."

Draco nodded, still eyeing the wand in his hands.

"Good to have your approval, Potter," he muttered.

"Well, don't get carried away," Potter replied cheerfully, taking a step back. "In any case, let's get the fuck out of here," he added, glancing around the room and shuddering. "Before I give in to the part of me wants to set this house on fire."

"Fair enough," Draco agreed grimly, tucking his mother's wand in his pocket. "Let's go."

* * *

"Hey," Daphne said, walking into the study and settling herself on the sofa they'd conjured from Draco's desk chair. "So, I just sent Pansy off with Smith, and Paul will be dropping Gosforth outside the Lestrange Estate any moment now."

"So now we wait," Hermione murmured, and Theo scowled.

"You mean continue to wait," he told her gruffly, glancing again at his watch. "It's been nearly an hour," he added, as though she might have managed to forget. "I don't like this."

"I'm sure they're fine," Hermione said, though she was a little nervous herself. She turned to Daphne for distraction, rubbing exhaustion from her eyes. "Are we sure Paul was the right way to handle this?"

"Pretty much the only way," Daphne said, shrugging. "He can be invisible and show up at the front door without disrupting the blood wards. Plus, if he gets caught, he can't be compelled to say who sent him."

"Only because if he disobeys Pansy by telling the truth, he'll die," Hermione said, her mouth twitching in displeasure. "Another wonderful facet of being a house elf," she muttered darkly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"In fairness, I think Paul would be happy to die for Pansy," Daphne told her, seeming to think that would be reassuring. "He's really quite close to her."

"Why is that?" Theo asked lazily, barely picking his head up from the couch. "I mean, really - _Pansy,_ of all people?"

Daphne smiled beatifically. "She's not what you think she is."

"I certainly hope not," Theo muttered.

There was a sound from the living room and the three of them looked up, holding their breaths.

"Potter, for the last time, stop fucking calling it the Order - "

"Well then _what_ , Lord Malfoy, am I supposed to fucking call it?"

Hermione smiled, shaking her head.

"For the thousandth time, this is not the Order of the Phoenix," Draco snapped, appearing in the doorway and giving Harry's half-cloaked form a shove through the frame. "This is simply a combination of my house and your irrepressible need for rebellion."

"Right, so, the Order of the Phoenix," Harry said, grinning roguishly as he threw himself down next to Hermione. "We brought you something," he said, nudging her. "If Malfoy'll ever stop fucking around."

She looked up, catching Draco's pained expression. "For the actual sake of fuck," he muttered, rubbing his temple. "You're _unbearable_."

"What is it?" Hermione asked, smiling at him. He seemed to instinctively return the expression, a little twitch appearing at the corners of his mouth.

"I'd prefer to give it to you privately," he told her.

"Gross," Theo judged, making a face.

"No, not like - " Draco sighed. "You know what? Whatever," he said, throwing his hands up. "You can all mock me however you like, and I'll just - "

"How'd it go?" Theo interrupted, rising to step towards him. "Did Lucius - "

"Essentially tell me to get fucked? Yes," Draco confirmed, forcing a smile. "But we all knew that was going to happen, didn't we?" He glanced at Harry, gesturing grimly to him. "That's what Potter was there for, right?"

A glance at Harry's face told Hermione that the Imperius curse had been necessary.

 _It should be me,_ Harry had suggested. _Better that you not chance getting caught with traces of your magic on your own father._

 _Just as well,_ Draco had replied, with something Hermione assumed to be forced flippancy. _What difference does it make whether it's you or me that casts it?_ He'd shrugged, not meeting anyone's eye. _Either way, all it means is that my father wouldn't have chosen me on his own._

"Hey," Theo said quietly, gripping Draco's arm. "I'm sorry."

For a moment, Hermione watched as Draco opened his mouth to say something - a joke, she guessed, or some kind of self-deprecating remark - but he met Theo's eye and seemed to bite his tongue, thinking better of it.

"Thanks," he murmured, and Hermione watched him take in a hesitant breath, seeking her out in the room as he forced an exhale. "Everything go okay here?"

"Yes," Hermione said, gesturing to Daphne for confirmation. "Pansy has Smith, Paul delivered Gosforth - "

"You're sure the memory modification you did will be sufficient?" Harry interrupted, jutting his chin out at Draco.

" _Yes_ , Potter," Draco replied irritably. "He's only going to remember leaving the summons, taking the Floo home, and being stunned from behind as he walked in. And even if that were not solid enough," Draco added, with a faint touch of conceit, "I'm fairly confident that his _actual_ memories of seeing Harry fucking Potter will be enough to distract the Dark Lord from digging around for much else."

"So I'll have kidnapped two people and murdered one in the last forty-eight hours, then," Harry said, throwing an arm around Hermione and nodding smugly. "I've been so busy."

"You haven't not been busy," Hermione reminded him, gesturing around the room. He chuckled his agreement, patting the top of her head and leaning back against the cushions.

She glanced up then, catching Draco's eye; he was reaching down, absently gripping his left wrist as he stared blankly at the floor. "Is it - " she began, pointing, and he looked up, startled, before shaking his head.

"No," he said, and swallowed. "Not yet." He glanced at Theo, who gave him a somewhat comforting grimace. They shared a moment of solidarity - an understanding that passed between them that Hermione doubted she'd ever reach - and then Draco straightened, nodding slightly; a weight lifted.

"Go," Theo suggested, releasing him and gesturing to Hermione. "It could happen any minute," he reminded him, "so you should probably - "

"Right," Draco agreed, taking a step towards Hermione and holding out a hand for her. "Come with me?"

She nodded, reaching for him and letting him lead her up the stairs, taking her to his bedroom and then closing the door behind him, letting out a slow exhale.

She felt it again as they walked inside, the wistful nostalgia for a life that had never happened; for a life that had never been fit for her possession, or that she had never been deemed fit to possess. A life of knowing with certainty that the way she felt was simple, uncomplicated, as easy and unprompted as the shiver that came at his touch; a life that tilted towards him the way her real life always had, but without leaving wreckage in its wake. She eyed his lips and wondered again at the pull she felt towards it; a life, a warmth, a _kiss_ \- somewhere in a garden, by a river, at sea, afloat. A daydream and a wish; to see him in the brightness of day instead of cast behind closed doors, swallowed up in darkness and fear.

A kiss as steeped in sun as he was, instead of dragged down to her depths.

She wondered again at a life she hadn't been gifted, at the possibility of living without scars; the ones she could see, she thought, tracing her fingers along his jaw, as well as the ones she couldn't. For every line in his chest, every mark in his ribs, every gash on his arms, she knew there was a corresponding intangible pain; one she could stand by and witness, as she had done, but never understand, as Theo could. A series of choices that would have meant a man who wouldn't have had to betray his father, who would have possessed more than a brotherhood born from equal measures of suffering.

 _A less beautiful man_ , she thought. _A lesser one._

"I have something for you," he opened, leaning into her touch. A natural gesture; learned, but not practiced.

She smiled. "Gross," she said, and he let out an unwilling laugh.

"Fine," he sighed, reaching into the pocket of his robes. "It's - it's this," he said, somewhat ungracefully, drawing a wand from inside it and holding it out for her.

She felt herself reach for it reflexively and then forced herself to pull her hand back, trying to ignore the weighted pounding of her heart.

"For me?" she asked, suddenly breathless; suddenly fearful she'd misunderstood and would now find herself cruelly disappointed, not having known how badly she'd wanted something she hadn't realized until this moment she could possess. She eyed it in his hands, half afraid she'd snatch it and run, half afraid it was a dream. "Whose is it?"

"My mother's," Draco said, and she looked up, feeling her eyes widen. "I don't know, exactly, if it's going to work for you," he explained hastily, "but I think - " he hesitated, offering her a weak smile. "I think it will."

He held it out to her again; this time, she let herself take it.

"Draco," she whispered, letting her fingers brush against the wood. "I can't imagine - " she shook her head. "I just - "

"Try it," he said, holding his breath.

She picked it up, suddenly feeling a thrill of nerves. "It's light," she told him, half-whispering. "Almost the same size as mine was."

Draco watched her, entranced. "Try it," he said again, and she turned for a moment, pulling a feather from the down of his duvet. He smiled, holding out his palm, and she set it against the smooth curve of his hand.

" _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," she said softly, and in a soothing rush of warmth she felt magic flood her veins again for the first time in months as the feather rose to float into the air, fluttering above their heads. She felt Draco pull her closer, one hand resting lightly on her hip as she toyed with the levitation, teasing it to follow the point of her wand until she brought it back down again, coaxing it to land on his waiting palm.

"It works," she said, realizing how breathless she was. "The same as my old wand, and better than Bellatrix's ever worked for me, and - " She raised a hand to her cheek, feeling the heat of it. "I'd forgotten," she said, wiping helplessly at her eyes. "I'd forgotten what it felt like."

She looked up at him, finding an odd expression on his face. "What?" she asked, feeling oddly exposed.

"The wand chooses the wizard," Draco commented, a tired smile stretching across his lips. "My mother's wand chose you."

She looked down, suddenly feeling a rush of significance; an understanding, she thought, of why he'd felt it important to give it to her alone.

"Draco," she said, reaching up to curl her fingers along his cheek. "Thank you," she whispered.

He cleared his throat, seemingly uncomfortable with whatever coil of sentimentality had gotten caught there. She laughed a little, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck, and he kissed her, brushing his lips against hers with the sort of ease she might have expected from a less burdened life. In a garden, by a river, at sea, afloat -

A natural gesture; learned, but not practiced.

"Just tell me a story, would you?" he asked, forcing the words out. "Before I have to go try to fool the most powerful legilimens who ever lived," he sighed, "if not the most powerful _wizard_ \- "

"He was never the most powerful," Hermione murmured with a shake of her head, pulling back to look at him. "He was only ever - " she paused, realizing something, and he settled back against the door, waiting expectantly.

"Once there was a young girl," she said, "who lived a normal life in a normal place and felt herself destined for normalcy, with nothing but a normal girl's mettle in her bones. But then, one day, she was transported from her normal life by a storm, and found that the world she'd expected was gone, and that she herself was a stranger left to wander an unrecognizable world."

"The girl came upon three other traveling creatures; a lion, in want of courage," she said, and Draco made a face, "an eagle, in want of a brain; and a snake, in want of a heart. They told her that they were traveling to see the great Wizard, of which there was only one," she clarified, and he nodded, "whom they believed would cure them of their ills. The girl, who longed to return to the comfort of her family and her home, agreed to go with them to petition the Wizard."

"The journey proved trying," she continued, "and along the way, all four friends were met with trials, one after another, in which they were equally tested. The lion was forced to be brave, to rescue his friends, and carry them on his back over chasms; the eagle was forced to be clever, to draw their tormenting assailants into traps and thus save them from attack; and the snake was forced to show compassion, sacrificing his own safety for the lives of the creatures he came to call friends."

"Eventually," she said, "they reached the Wizard, and petitioned him for his gifts; but upon pulling back the veil, they discovered the Wizard was nothing but a pretender, and no more powerful than they. To their dismay, the creatures lamented that they would never be granted the things they desired; but the girl, who had seen them as they truly were," she murmured carefully, "and who had come to love them for their true selves, showed them that what they desired had been there all along, and that their belief that any Wizard was any greater than they was false; and that _he_ ," she added emphatically, "in whom they had so easily invested their loyalty, was only a master of disguise, and no supreme being at all."

"Granger," Draco said, turning his head to speak into her ear, "are you saying I'm the Hufflepuff girl in this story, or the heartless snake?"

She pulled back, admonishing him with a roll of her eyes.

"I'm _saying_ ," she told him, "that powerful wizards are nothing but smoke and mirrors. And speaking of snakes - "

She leaned onto her toes, whispering against his lips. "I need to tell you about something called a horcrux," she murmured, smiling at the way he shuddered longingly at her touch, "and a man called Tom Riddle."

"Hermione," he said, his grey eyes darkened as he looked at her, "I - "

He cut off suddenly with a strangled groan, drawing his wrist to his chest. "Fuck," he muttered, clenching his left hand into a fist and staring at it.

She took a step back, biting her lip as she watched him. "Is it - "

"I have to go," Draco forced out, hissing through his teeth. "He's calling."

* * *

 **a/n:** Story inspiration from _The Wonderful Wizard of Oz_ by L. Frank Baum. Dedicated to lovelikehell - I've so enjoyed watching you re-read _Clean_ and _Marked_ , and am glad to have you here.

 _ **Brief PSA:** my original novella for Witch Way Magazine, __**A.U.**_ _, is now complete and available for purchase. You can find it at [ **bit** dot **ly** slash _**_AUOlivie_** _]_ _(no spaces, case sensitive),_ _or via my Tumblr. My new story,_ _ **Lovely Tangled Vices**_ _, will be released in the April issue. The summary for that story is:_ _The Locke sisters are the last of a dwindling line of witches, grasping at a fortune that's been lost after near centuries of disrepair. There's Isabella, the elder sister who's desperate to rebuild her family's former splendor; Irene, the younger sister who knows how to play her cards; so-called Prospero, the charismatic Duke with a knack for thievery; and Ian, the quiet academic with a hidden, tortured past. When it comes to the Locke sisters, it's a struggle for love and power amidst a tangle of vices, but nothing is more valuable than the secrets they keep close._


	23. The Trials of Separation

**Chapter 23: The Trials of Separation**

* * *

 _ **2001**_

* * *

She let the conversation replay in her mind, trying to remember how they'd gotten here.

 _You can't just sit here and mourn, Hermione - they won't stop for his death, and neither can we -_

 _How dare you? How dare you discard him like that?_

 _Discard him? You think I am capable of discarding my own brother?_

 _You already have!_

Bill turned towards her, the sheets rustling around them. Hermione was lying on her back, coiling a long brown curl around her finger and trying not to stare at him, at the two faces she saw when she looked at him; at the familiar glint of red, the same blue eyes, the colors and features that were _exactly the same_ and yet hauntingly different, buried beneath layers of scars and grief.

 _He's gone, isn't he?_ she demanded. _And you want me to just -_

 _I don't want you to do anything,_ he interrupted. _I don't want anything from you, Hermione._

She blinked. _You don't?_

Liar. He'd kissed her to prove it.

He cleared his throat before speaking, breaking the silence. "Maybe I should apologize," he began, and she shook her head, forcing a smile.

"No, I - " She paused, licking her dry lips. "I wanted it. I'm just surprised - "

She trailed off again and he reached over, her chin suddenly caught in a trap of his fingers as he drew her face towards his. "Tell me," he said quietly, and she let the curl she'd been toying with untwist from her finger as she turned on her side to look at him.

"I'm surprised you wanted me," she confessed, fighting a tremor of something indeterminable at the memory, at the flashes of his touch, at how he had been urgent and desperate but still sure, certain, knowing. How his hands on her had been a mix of experience and a poorly suppressed want.

The experience was his alone. The want, however, had been mutual.

Whatever she'd had with Ron - the innocence of affection, the schoolgirl crush - it had been nothing like _this_. She'd imagined sex before; thought about it, toyed with it, treated it like a subject for objective scrutiny, like an inevitable end-of-term exam. She'd determined sex to be largely uninteresting, at first, and then there had been Bill and his face and his eyes and his mournful darkness, and then she'd swallowed her curiosity and determined it impossible. Inadvisable. _Out of the question._

But the way he looked at her . . .

The tide of pain had receded, if only temporarily. _Very_ temporarily. Perhaps she should have already known that about sex; that it wasn't ever magic. Just a trick of the light, a flood of something primal; a breathless escape, to start, but once her pulse caught up to her it could only ever devolve to a muted suffering. A hollow festering.

 _Again,_ she thought as soon as it was over, even as she knew it wouldn't last. _I found your lips in my anger,_ she thought, _and I met your hips in my grief._

It wasn't real; pain remained. And yet -

 _Again._

Her breath caught at the memory, and then Bill seemed to catch something in her eye, his hand sliding down; his thumb glided along the slope of her neck, digging into her clavicle, tightening around her shoulder.

"I want you," he said simply. "You have to know that."

She did, in a sense; he'd been looking at her too long, standing too close, making _out of the question_ something that haunted her at night, that slipped into her bones and dogged her every step, tapping at her shoulder and expanding with her ribs each time she took a breath.

"Still," she said, swallowing. "I'm not her."

He shut his eyes. She wondered if he didn't want her to see the pain in them, or if he were simply fighting his own waves of memory. Or worse; perhaps he didn't want to look at Hermione and chance registering that he was seeing _her_ , young and plain and naive, where he should have seen Fleur, lively and vivacious and beautiful.

Funny how that worked. Bill might have avoided her face in the name of memory and yet she stared at his for it, hungry for a glimpse of Ron that she knew she would never find. This was a different man, and there was fury and pain and rage where she would have looked for softness, laughter, hope. For history; ten years of it. For familiarity; for freckles she knew by heart.

But that had been a very different man, and this one, beneath his scars - _with_ them, and _because_ of them - he was like art. A portrait of tragedy, the colors dark and violent.

His kiss was mean; she wanted it.

She let out a breath as she watched him, relenting the search. She could tell herself she wanted Ron, but she knew it was Bill she'd come for, however unmerciful that was to admit.

 _I'm not her._ He'd let the words hang in the air too long; she felt she was suffocating beneath them.

"I was going to grow old with her," Bill murmured, and Hermione fought back a chill. He drew a finger along her collarbone, staring at the motion. "Nothing will ever be the same as it was with her."

She suffered a blow; it wasn't heartbreak, but something close to it. An ache, nonetheless.

"Maybe I should go," Hermione said, moving to slip out of the covers and back into the night, but Bill stopped her hand, his long fingers wrapping around her wrist as half a growl left his lips; a glimpse of the wolf within.

"Stay," he said gruffly, and then managed a small degree of softening to ask, "please."

She sighed, not moving.

"This is stupid," she reminded him. "Pointless."

"If you want to see it that way," he agreed, laughing a little and then letting the sound settle to a scoff. "If you're looking for some kind of storybook romance, then fine. Maybe I'm not your best option."

"Maybe not," she echoed dully, and a regretful smile haunted the shape of his mouth.

"The world isn't what we thought it was," he reminded her. "I doubt any of us are growing old, or filling storybooks." He slid his hand down her arm, taking her fingers between his and bringing them to his lips, the movement somehow both soft and cold and edged, somehow, with a gutting cruelty. "It's time for new promises, don't you think?" he murmured. "For our dystopian future."

Hermione was torn between a laugh, a sob, and a compulsion to slap him.

"Grim," she remarked flatly, and he shrugged.

"If you want sex," he said, suddenly yanking her against him beneath the covers, "I will fuck you every night. I will fuck you until we both forget," he promised, and she marveled privately at how much they had suffered that it would be such a tempting offer. "I can't conjure happiness," he added, his eyes following the lines of her face, "but I can damn well guarantee satisfaction."

She said nothing, feeling his grip tighten, his lips dropping to press against her throat.

"What if I want something else?" she asked hoarsely. "Something more?"

He paused, his fingers stilling in her curls. "Like what?"

"Like maybe being wanted for more than sex," she supplied bitterly. "Like being valued for more than just some - " She paused, gritting her teeth, and borrowed a motion from him, gripping the back of his neck and forcing him to look at her. "More than just a portal for escape, Bill." She swallowed, conscious of the mixed message she was sending with her leg threaded through his. "I'm more than just a tool to help you forget."

His blue eyes flashed; hunger, she knew, and suspected her own gaze echoed it, but she waited for him to speak, her ego fragilely sore.

"I know you are," he finally said. "I know what you're made of, Hermione, and I know - "

He paused, suddenly erupting in mirthless laughter. She frowned, pulling away. "What is it?"

Bill's hand drifted to her hip, bathing her in silence as she held her breath. "I know one day you'll wake up beside me and wish I was gone from your life," he whispered to the crook of her neck, rolling her onto her back. "One day you'll see that I'm a mistake you had to make" - a little bite to her collarbone, his tongue drifting across her skin - "and when you do, you'll be happy to be rid of me."

"Bill," she said, but the name got caught in her throat. "I wouldn't - "

"You're good, you know," he said, his lips finding the slope of her breast. "As humans go, you're fundamentally _good,_ " he repeated. "And you're brilliant, and you have more capacity for empathy than any person should have without breaking - without being trampled," he whispered to the span of her abdomen, "without being crushed under the weight of it all."

"I'm not," she murmured, shifting underneath him. "I'm more selfish than you think."

" _I'm_ selfish," he spat, looking up at her as he drew back, rising up on his haunches. "You can take what you want from me, Hermione," he told her. "I give you permission - I've got nothing worth having. Nothing left." He slid a thumb along the curve of her thigh, making her gasp, before leaning forward to speak in her ear.

"But don't let me take from you," he whispered, and when she gasped again he caught it between his teeth, his lips relentless and unforgiving against hers.

* * *

 _ **2005 (Present)**_

* * *

Hermione jolted awake, stifling a scream as Luna's overlarge grey eyes stared back from across Draco's study.

"Hello," Luna said cheerfully as Hermione had clapped a hand over her own mouth, her pulse stuttering in surprise. "Sleep well?"

"No," Hermione exhaled, shuddering. She dropped to a whisper, watching Harry's sleeping form twitch warningly beside her on the couch. "Not at all." She glanced at the clock on the wall, surprised to find she'd managed to fall asleep. "Draco's been gone an hour."

"I'm sure he and Voldemort have quite a bit to talk about," Luna mused, reaching both arms up in a languid, feline stretch before returning her gaze to Hermione, her lips curling into a smile. "Miss him already, do you?"

Hermione fought an eye roll. "Don't," she sighed.

"I would never," Luna remarked gleefully, crossing her legs underneath her and settling herself on the floor. "I just thought I'd ask. It must worry you," she added, thoughtfully tapping the swell of her mouth. "First Bill, then Harry, and now - "

"Those aren't the same," Hermione interrupted, glaring at her. "You can't equate them like that, it isn't - " she stopped, hesitating, before shaking her head. "They're just not the same," she finished.

"Well, they've all been absent for a time," Luna mused gently. "And they've all loved you, and you've loved them."

Hermione groaned. "Yes, but they haven't - "

She stopped, catching herself. Luna grinned.

"Yes?" Luna prompted, tilting her head.

"I - I didn't," Hermione stammered, and straightened. "Love them, I mean. I didn't," she repeated, thinking of Bill. "I couldn't," she determined, tipping her head towards Harry, "not like that, and I can't." She closed her eyes, fighting the image of Draco that instantly came to mind, the glimmer of light in his features. "I can't," she said again, with a touch more effort this time.

"Mm," Luna said evasively, and Hermione cracked one eye, glaring at her. "What?" Luna protested, shrugging. "I'm agreeing with you, Hermione."

"You aren't," Hermione grumbled, and scrubbed at her eyes. "What are you here for, anyway?"

"Oh, nothing," Luna hummed softly, but at Hermione's loud sigh, she chuckled, reconsidering. "I suppose I just wonder if you think you could grow old with him," Luna prompted, and Hermione bristled unexpectedly at the echo, the tickle in her consciousness; _I was supposed to grow old with her._

As though they were even remotely comparable.

"We're not growing old at all," Hermione scoffed. "Look around you. It's death trap after death trap."

"You'll have to get old someday," Luna reminded her, and then smiled. "Unless you make a horcrux," she suggested brightly, an irritating reference that Hermione blatantly ignored.

"I don't want to think about 'someday' at all," Hermione told her. "It's pointless."

 _This is stupid._ A tug at her chest as Bill's blue eyes flashed. _Pointless._

"I don't think it's fair to rule it out," Luna said warmly, her blonde waves falling into her eyes. At Hermione's silence, Luna reached forward, her fingers light against Hermione's knee. "Maybe you learned too much from Bill," she whispered, as memory flooded Hermione again; _don't let me take from you,_ she heard Bill say, and beside her, she felt Harry stir.

"What's going on?" Harry asked sleepily, glancing around the room. "Are they back?"

Hermione blinked, and then Luna was gone.

"Not yet," she said, clearing her throat. "Sorry, I was, um," she paused. "Talking to myself."

Harry shrugged. "It happens," he said, and she laughed a little, shaking her head.

"I guess we've both gone mad a few times, haven't we?" she joked, and he nodded, a familiar smile passing over his lips.

"Comes with the territory," he said, throwing an arm around her. Hermione smiled at the contact, her hand twitching towards the wand beside her before she permitted herself to pick it up, summoning a pitcher of water from the kitchen that was followed, with a series of glasses, by Daphne's form striding through the door.

"Saw the pitcher go by and figured you two must be up and about," she offered, a smile twitching as she took note of Hermione's wand. "How is it?" she asked, gesturing to it.

"It's a bit . . . " Hermione trailed off. "Unbelievable."

"Can't imagine a life without magic," Daphne remarked flippantly, and then stopped, her hazel eyes widening. "I mean," she amended quickly, "well, I just didn't mean to - "

"No, you're right," Hermione assured her. "It was empty, in a way. Like a piece of me was missing." She smiled faintly, glancing over the wood of Narcissa's wand - _her_ wand. "I may have been born from Muggles, but magic is as much a part of me as anything."

Daphne's cheeks were still flushed from her unintentional misstep, but she took a seat beside Hermione and lightly patted her leg. "I know that," she said softly, and for whatever reason, it seemed a moment of significance between them.

Harry reached out, brushing Daphne's arm with his fingertips with the arm that was slung over Hermione's shoulder. "How are you?"

"As well as can be expected, I suppose," Daphne replied, with a subtle motion of her lips that was too forced to be a smile, but too lovely for a grimace. "I'm - " she paused, biting her lip. "Worried."

"About the wonder twins?" Harry scoffed. "They'll be fine."

"Well, yes, Draco and Theo," Daphne confirmed, chuckling. "But just . . . everyone." She toyed with her slender fingers, her hands clasped in her lap. "I worry I've put everyone in danger."

"Well, _we've_ always been fucked," Harry assured her, gesturing between him and Hermione. "Truly and royally fucked. Hey," he added, turning towards Hermione, "that reminds me, I haven't asked. How is my- "

"Let's see it," Hermione interrupted knowingly, and Harry grinned, unbuttoning his shirt - Draco's shirt, which looked somewhat formal and out of place on Harry's wiry build - and shifting to sit at her feet, turning his back towards her.

Daphne leaned forward, her fingers reaching out to hover over his tattoo. "Is that - "

"We all got them one night while we were living in the Forbidden Forest," Hermione explained, rolling her eyes. "Stupidly, obviously."

"It wasn't stupid," Harry protested. "It was brilliant."

"We were drunk," Hermione reminded him. "And it was _Ron's_ idea, so - "

As soon as she said his name, she and Harry both flinched; at the motion, Daphne's hand shifted in the air, settling itself on Hermione's knee and lightly squeezing once. _You're okay,_ the motion said. _Keep going_.

"What made you do it?" Daphne asked gently, and Harry let out a laugh that was mostly a groan.

"We had just rescued Dean Thomas," he supplied. "Snatchers had taken him, and we managed to intercept his transfer before they moved him to - "

"My house, probably," Daphne cut in at a mutter, and then Hermione moved one hand, covering Daphne's with hers. _You're okay,_ the motion whispered. _Keep going._

"In any case, we were all drinking," Harry continued. "You know, feeling victorious - "

"Unwisely," Hermione murmured with a sigh. "Though it was a period generally lacking in wisdom, so - "

"There's just something about embracing criminality," Harry interrupted. "There was something about deciding to say 'fuck it' and just _be_ , you know?"

Daphne's smile faded to something more serious; a furrow of her delicate brow. "Yeah," she said. "I do, actually."

She stirred uncomfortably and Hermione lightly tapped her fingers, flashing the other witch what she hoped was a comforting smile.

"Every time before that there had been so much fear," Hermione continued in explanation, leaning her head back. "There was something _dark_ before that, while we were all trying so hard not to die - "

"Like our lives were eggshells instead of steel," Harry said, laughing. "And then I think it just occurred to us that maybe it didn't matter that we might not get out alive," he remarked with a shrug. "Or that maybe we couldn't lose, or _wouldn't._ " He twisted around to look at Daphne, resting his chin near where hers and Hermione's hands were still joined on her knee. "Like maybe we were never going to fucking die - or if we did, we'd at least take some monsters down with us."

Daphne swallowed, the words seeming to hit home. "And now?"

Harry quirked a brow, turning to Hermione. "Dead, is it?" he asked pointedly, and she shook her head, finding comfort in the rhythm.

"Nope," she told him, running her thumb over the wings of the phoenix as a smile stole its way across her face. "I think it's preening."

Harry smirked. "Intolerable," he declared, and then suddenly clambered to his feet, holding a hand out for Daphne. "Where do you want yours?" he asked casually, pulling her up to stand, and Hermione watched Daphne's eyes widen, tentatively shaking her head.

"I can't," she argued weakly. "I couldn't, and I - "

"Hermione still knows the spell," Harry commented impassively, turning to her. "Don't you?"

"Harry," she began, treading gently with uncertainty, but his green eyes held a familiar glint of mischief in them - of _normalcy_ \- and she knew she couldn't refuse. She sighed, turning to the other woman, and let her fingers tap against her new wand. "I _could_ use the practice," Hermione offered, and slowly - _slowly, slowly_ \- Daphne's smile broadened.

Between the three of them, the entire room was warmed.

* * *

What had started as a predictable fest of general rage and aimless property damage had become somewhat of a one man show. Draco fell to his knees, pain ricocheting in his chest as the pale tips of his blond hair fell into his eyes, his vision swimming.

"I have been patient with you, Draco, have I not?" the Dark Lord said through clenched teeth, not lowering his wand. "Have I not been merciful?"

"You have, My Lord," Draco struggled to force out, shutting his eyes as a dizzying flash of white swept across his eyelids. When had he last eaten? Last slept? If he'd known he was going to face an extended bout of Cruciatus, of magic he scarcely knew how to use, he might have thought to be more prepared. He tried not to look at Theo, at his Imperiused father; he tried not to look up at all. The only appropriate response was to suffer, and so he did.

To suffer with grace would be an insult to a man who took pleasure in torment. Draco let a piteous groan of pain slip from his lips, debasing himself, letting the sound remind him who he'd done this for and praying it would be effective, would be worth it; knowing, effective or not, that it was.

"Potter is alive," the Dark Lord spat, advancing towards him again. "And _you,_ Draco, have harbored an Order member. Did you really think I did not know?"

"I never intended - to keep anything from you," Draco stammered, wincing as his shuffle backwards displaced a rib; bruised or broken, he guessed, not that the distinction mattered. "I - it was only - "

"What was your intent, Draco?" Lord Voldemort demanded, aiming a wordless curse at Draco's other side, watching him stumble unevenly. "Am I to find this series of events to be some sort of mere" - he paused, grimacing warningly - "coincidence?"

"I - I failed, My Lord," Draco ground out, spitting a mouthful of blood. "I found - " he hissed, shutting his eyes as he suffered another wave, a tremor of agony. "I found her, she was - I thought she would lead me - lead me to him, to - to Potter - "

"And why," the Dark Lord snarled, aiming another curse at him that dropped Draco's elbows to the cold stone floor, his knees slipping in the glaze of his own sweat and blood, " _why_ would you think that?"

"People - go back to their roots," Draco muttered, his head pounding. He struggled to maintain control of his thoughts, to continuously battle back the memories he knew would get him killed. "Potter's roots are - " he swallowed, passing his tongue over his cracked lips. "Potter's roots - are Granger - "

"You say she's dead," Lord Voldemort commented harshly; his wand momentarily stilled, his fingers twitching against it. "Why should I believe you?"

 _Fuck,_ Draco thought frantically, realizing he'd been dangerously unprepared for this turn of events; it was the one instance that using Occlumency would be a hindrance. He sought out Theo's face in the room for the first time, deciding he'd have to take the risk, only to find with hazy recognition that Theo's lips were silently moving, something happening from afar; a spell, the tip of Theo's wand subtly aimed at Draco's forehead from across the room.

Something lodged itself in his thoughts, and Draco shut his eyes gratefully. _Clever Theo. Observant Theo._ He lowered his head in a hitched breath of relief as Lord Voldemort opened his mouth, wand raised.

" _Legilimens,_ " the Dark Lord muttered, and then Draco's brain was flooded.

 _He stumbled through the Floo to the dim glow of Malfoy Manor - the weight of her in his hands so perversely insubstantial, as if she were nothing at all - just skin and bones and dirty blood, dripping from her lips -_

 _He forced Veritaserum down her throat, wrenched her jaw open, watched it dribble down her chin as her eyes fluttered vacantly - she wouldn't hold her head, she couldn't, so he forced it up by the scruff of her neck - drink it, he muttered, drink it, drink it, god damn it, drink it -_

 _TELL ME, he railed at her, TELL ME EVERYTHING - but she faded quickly, went limp in his arms - her face, her eyes, vacant, inanimate, empty, gone - a growl of frustration - MUDBLOOD, how dare you, how fucking dare you, your life is useless - you criminal, you thief, you worthless bitch -_

 _She's stiff now, and heavy, he throws her aside, aims a frustrated kick at her ribs - nothing, NOTHING, nothing, useless and worthless and GONE - nothing remains of Hermione Granger, the brains - what brains? - she's gone, she's finally gone, and nothing, nothing, nothing remains -_

 _She's gone, she's gone, she's gone -_

"So the mudblood is truly dead," Lord Voldemort proclaimed coldly.

Draco's head swam, but he could still see triumph in the Dark Lord's slanted eyes; triumph, victory, relief, all lasting a painful instant - and then, to Draco's horror, the slits of red narrowed, anger flaring at Lord Voldemort's nostrils as he stared down at the Death Eater lying prostrate at his feet.

When Draco's mind finally cleared of Hermione's face, dull and colorless and lifeless, he tasted salt on his tongue; he recognized the taste of tears and ache and fury that had mixed into saliva and blood, dripping from his parted lips. He felt a throb in his head, his arms having given out, cheek cut and bruised and sore where it lay against the cold stone floor. Draco retched once, twice, trying desperately to pull himself up, but was certain he would be sick if he tried; he paused his progress, struggling, and then felt a foot aim itself at his spine, crushing him beneath it, and he let his arms go limp.

 _Suspicion,_ Draco realized, and suddenly he knew he'd offered up too much truth in the midst of telling the lie.

"Don't get up," the Dark Lord snarled, shoving his heel into the small of Draco's back. "You've not finished answering my questions."

Draco said nothing. The memory was false; the reaction was not. He'd been unprepared, and now he would pay for his folly.

"Potter's roots are Granger," Voldemort echoed quietly, mocking him. "And what are _your_ roots, Draco?" He bent, yanking Draco's head up and back by a handful of his hair, dragging him onto his knees. "Where is your loyalty, Draco Malfoy?" the Dark Lord whispered in his ear; venomous, snake-like, cruel. "Is it with me," he mused softly, "and is it with the purity of your ancestors, or is it buried somewhere," he murmured, "in a tomb with a dead mudblood whore?"

Draco looked up to catch Theo's eye as Lord Voldemort aimed the glowing point of his wand at Draco's throat. _Cursed from birth,_ he thought, watching Theo's face drain of blood. _Cursed from birth, and we taught ourselves to hide -_

"With you, My Lord," Draco rasped, and as the Dark Lord released his hold he did not even brace his fall, his head meeting the floor with a dull, hollow thud.

 _Don't get up,_ he heard Lord Voldemort say.

Don't get up.

 _We rise, fucker,_ Draco thought in muted rebellion, letting his vision go black. _We always fucking rise._

* * *

"Done," Hermione said, taking a step back to tilt her head, eyeing the blade of Daphne's shoulder. "What do you think?" she asked, nudging Harry.

"Suits you," Harry remarked, and Daphne twisted around, trying to see it.

"What's it doing?" she asked, and Harry bent to look closer at it, the phoenix that Hermione had charmed with a splash of emerald.

"Sleeping," he informed her grandly, and Daphne made a face.

"Well, that's not very exciting," she remarked, just as they heard a knock at the front door, glancing anxiously at each other. "Probably just Pansy," Daphne murmured, and Harry leapt up, grabbing his cloak as a precaution and throwing it over his shoulders.

"How does it feel?" Hermione asked her. "Being one of us unfortunate hero-types."

"Exhausting, apparently," Daphne said glumly, and Hermione laughed, the two of them sitting on the floor as Pansy strode in through the door, stopping abruptly at the sight of Daphne's exposed shoulder.

"What did you do to her?" Pansy asked sharply, but as Hermione opened her mouth, she shook her head, waving the response away. "Nevermind. We have other matters to attend to," she said, arching a slim dark brow, "and _by the way_ , Granger, you're supposed to have changed clothes by now, like a normal human person."

"Oh, come on," Hermione grumbled as Pansy turned to gesture impatiently through the door, waving Harry in beside the lumbering form of Zacharias Smith, who entered in a vacant trance.

"Hurry up, Potter," Pansy snapped briskly, giving Zacharias a nudge, "and where's Paul?"

"Paul is here, Mistress," the elf squeaked as he followed behind her, dutifully levitating in what Hermione realized with a jolt was the unmoving body of -

"Cormac McLaggen?" Hermione gasped, rising instantly to her feet. She glanced at Pansy, her fingers tightening anxiously around her wand. "What the hell is this?"

Harry was right behind her, practically stepping on her toes as Paul promptly deposited Cormac's limp body on the floor, leaving him to sprawl out beside Daphne on Draco's antique rug. "Is he dead?"

"No, he's not dead, Potter, for Salazar's sake," Pansy snapped, rolling her eyes. "Why would I bring him here if he were _dead_?"

"Why would you bring him here at all?" Harry retorted, and Hermione frowned, making the connection first.

"Wait," she said, shaking her head as she stared down at Cormac's unconscious form; still handsome, she thought with a burdened sigh, and still overly styled with Sleekeazy's hair potion. "Is _Cormac_ a Snatcher?"

"Yes, he is," Pansy replied, her voice clipped. "Hey," she added, nudging Zacharias before snapping her fingers. "Sit down."

He promptly sat, his feet collapsing beneath him.

"Good boy," Pansy sniffed, nudging him over with her foot. "Moving forward - " she paused, looking around to confirm that they were the only ones in the house. "Darian's home," she commented, frowning slightly. "Where are Draco and Theo?"

"Not sure," Hermione said uneasily, trying to shove aside a sudden shiver of nerves. "Coming, probably."

Pansy let out a loud sigh, shaking her head. "Well, best of luck to them," she muttered, nudging Cormac with her foot. "We, on the other hand, are going to have to conduct an interrogation."

"Pans," Daphne murmured, rising to her feet to tuck her chin in the crook of Pansy's neck. "You _do_ know you're going to have to explain this, right?"

"Ah, if I must," Pansy tutted, pouting, before tilting her head to grace Daphne's cheek with a kiss. "I brought Zacharias down to the Three Broomsticks and it was _madness,_ " she said. "He's not well liked."

"Shocking," Harry growled.

"The only person who wasn't demanding his attention was McLaggen, here," Pansy explained, "who was still drunk from last night, by the looks of it - "

"You brought back the only Snatcher who _wasn't_ interested in Smith?" Harry demanded and Pansy gave him a look of unfiltered irritation.

" _Yes,_ Potter," she said snippily, "because nobody's going to question it when a drunk Snatcher goes missing." She shrugged. "If McLaggen never makes it back, then hey, whatever," she clarified, waving a hand carelessly. "It's not the first time I've seen him like this, and nobody will think twice."

"I hate to say it, but the logic there is sound," Hermione said tentatively. "He might actually be a good choice."

Pansy scowled. "Excuse me, Granger? He _m_ _ight_ b- "

Daphne clapped a hand over her mouth, smiling. "Good work, Pans," she murmured soothingly, giving Hermione a wink. "And now the plan is - ?"

"Veratiserum," Pansy supplied, pulling a small vial from her pocket and waving it around for their benefit. "I figure we can decide if we can trust him, or _incentivize_ him," she added pointedly, "or if we have to just bleed him for information and then toss his body in the woods."

"What?" Daphne asked, appalled.

"Oh relax, I just meant metaphorically," Pansy assured her, but at Harry's arched brow, Pansy winked. _Literally,_ she mouthed, and Harry bit back a chuckle.

"Well," Hermione said, trying to think. "I suppose it's possible he might not be loyal to You-Know-Who."

"He clearly hates his job," Daphne agreed. "The drinking doesn't exactly scream positive lifestyle."

"Is it really that simple, though?" Hermione asked, and Harry took a few steps to snatch the vial of Veritaserum from Pansy's hand, ignoring her loud squawk of protest.

"Well, let's see, shall we?" he muttered, forcing Cormac's mouth open.

"Wait," Hermione said, stepping forward. "We don't even know what to ask! We don't know if he'll - "

She stopped as Cormac sputtered loudly, rising slowly to sit upright. Harry crouched in front of him, staring, and opened his mouth.

"What's your name?" Harry asked, and Cormac blinked.

"Cormac Sebastian Beaufort McLaggen," he replied flatly, to which Pansy wrinkled her nose.

"Are you loyal to You-Know-Who?" Harry continued, and Cormac blinked again.

"No," he said.

"Huh," Daphne whispered. "I guess it might actually be that easy."

"Are you a Snatcher?"

"Yes."

"Do you know the Snatcher Zacharias Smith?"

"Yes."

"Do you like him?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"He's a tool and he owes me thirty galleons."

"Do you have any loyalty to any You-Know-Who supporters?"

"No."

"Do you have any loyalty to the Order of the Phoenix?"

"Good question," Hermione murmured, and Daphne nodded her agreement.

"No."

"Do you have any loyalty to anyone?" Pansy asked, shoving Harry aside.

"No."

"Would you," Harry asked quickly, "if the circumstances were right?"

A pause. "Yes."

"What would the circumstances be?" Pansy asked.

"I want out of this hellhole," Cormac said without blinking.

Harry and Pansy exchanged a glance.

"Can you be trusted?" Harry asked.

Cormac's eyes fluttered once. "Sometimes."

"With leverage?" Pansy prompted.

"Yes."

"What leverage?"

A pause.

"Ginny Weasley."

Harry slowly let out a breath.

"Well," Pansy muttered. " _That's_ a surprise."

* * *

When Draco opened his eyes again he was in Nott Manor, lying on the sofa in Theo's sitting room. He turned his head groggily away from the light; Theo was pressing a cool cloth to his cheek, mopping up blood, before he seemed to catch the fluttering of Draco's eyelids.

"You fucker," Theo remarked, shaking his head.

Draco caught his wrist, stilling him. "Hermione," he croaked the moment he found his voice. "I have to - I need to - "

"You _know_ she's alive, you twat," Theo retorted, his lips pursed in disapproval. "I didn't think you'd want her to see you like this." He pushed Draco's hair back from his forehead, swallowing as he pressed the cloth to rub at a pool of dried blood. " _I_ didn't want to see you like this," he added under his breath, and Draco closed his eyes, reaching up to press his fingers to his own temple.

"My head hurts," he rasped, and Theo reached behind him, producing a small vial.

"Got this for you," he offered. "Wasn't going to make you drink it while you were unconscious."

Draco nodded, trying to pull himself upright. Theo shifted back, helping him, and then returned to cleaning his wounds once Draco had tossed the potion back, letting the cool feeling settle numbly over his bones before he glanced down at his bandaged ribs.

"Thanks," Draco croaked, feeling the pounding slowly ebb from his skull. "What did he - "

He paused, reliving the exchange, revisiting the narrow slits of eyes that had stared across the table. _Lestrange murdered by Potter, Gosforth kidnapped by him - it all seems a bit too convenient, doesn't it? The timing a bit too . . . telling, isn't it?_

The sinking feeling. _My Lord, I don't know what you mean, I've done nothing -_

 _Draco, Draco, why must you repay my favor with lies?_

"It's better that he made you bleed, you know," Theo said, folding the stained bit of cloth and pressing it to Draco's lip to interrupt his thoughts. "Not ideal, obviously, but you're probably safer for it. His silence is more dangerous than anything."

"I know that," Draco replied stiffly, flinching at the soreness at his mouth. "I know. I didn't mean to - " he grimaced, and then winced. "I didn't know what you'd done, and - I wasn't ready - "

"You'll have to do something now, you know," Theo interrupted, not meeting Draco's eye. "And fucking _soon_ , too," he added, charming the cloth clean and then reapplying it. "He'll be waiting for you to prove your loyalty."

Draco reached up, pausing Theo's wrist. "I know," he said, and then tightened his grip as Theo glanced away. "Hey," Draco growled. "Look at me."

"Can't," Theo snapped, grumpily moving to drop some Dittany over the cuts that littered his ribs. "Your pretty face is all bloody and disgusting."

"Shut up," Draco retorted, shoving his hand away impatiently and then frowning, catching a side of Theo he rarely saw. "You're angry at me," he realized slowly, watching Theo continue to avoid meeting his eye. "What did I do?"

"Nothing," Theo muttered unconvincingly. At another shove from Draco, he rolled his eyes."You got yourself half-murdered," he grumbled. "Made me watch."

"That's not it," Draco protested, and at yet another shift away by Theo he lunged forward, grabbing him by the collar. "What the fuck, Theo?"

Theo's green eyes met his with a flash of temper. "You fucked yourself over, Draco," he said, a little too harshly for Draco's taste, and lacking his usual bite of humor. "The only thing that's going to satisfy the Dark Lord now is the body of some Order member, and you fucking know it."

"Fine, so we give him a body," Draco retorted. "It isn't the first time."

"No, it fucking _isn't,_ and weren't you the one on my case about having blood on my hands from the last round of this?" Theo demanded. "You fucking - " he leapt to his feet, giving in to a need to pace the room, prowling and furious and caged. "You _fell apart_ , Draco - you completely fucking _deteriorated_ \- "

"You made me watch her _die_ ," Draco reminded him, struggling to his feet. "You made me watch her _bleed,_ Theo - what the fuck was I supposed to do?"

"Deal with it," Theo snarled, rounding on him. "You were supposed to keep your shit together long enough for us to get out of there without any new cause for suspicion, but _no,_ " he ranted, "you let yourself fall apart over something you've been lying to me about until three _fucking_ days ago - "

"What do you want me to do?" Draco asked furiously, the question hissing out through gritted teeth as he reached out to grip Theo's shoulder, his volume escalating. "What the fuck would fix it, Theo? Do you want me to love her less?"

Theo went rigid; Draco felt himself go pale.

"What?" Theo asked, the word slipping out in a whisper.

"I - I didn't mean that," Draco stammered quickly, shaking his head. "It's not like that. I just - "

But Theo's face contorted into something like confusion or pain or betrayal and Draco cut himself off, biting his tongue.

"What the fuck is your plan here, Draco?" Theo asked him, and Draco opened his mouth but was relieved to be cut off again, finding himself lacking any sort of answer that made sense. "No, Draco, don't give me any more bullshit," Theo snapped, taking a step back to remove himself from Draco's reach. "This is _war,_ Draco. This is bigger than the two of you, bigger than the two of _us -_ "

Draco shook his head, raising his hands in wordless confusion. "I don't understand this, Theo," he admitted, and then swayed slightly; Theo grimaced, taking a step forward to steady him. "Theo," Draco said again, staring at him. "What did I do?"

Theo bent his head, dropping his gaze. "I just don't understand anymore," he muttered. "It's like - it's like we went through the last seven years in some kind of a daze," he said slowly, "and now we're awake, and it's horrible, and everything is fucking _terrible_ but I don't understand who woke us or why or what to do next, or what's - " he broke off, his volume rising. "I don't know what's wrong or right anymore, and I can't - I don't know how to - "

"We've been here before," Draco reminded him, gripping Theo's arms. "When your father died - "

"When I killed him," Theo cut in hoarsely.

" - when he _died,_ " Draco said again, "we knew what we had to do." He swallowed, fighting the image of Ron Weasley falling stiffly to the floor. "And we know what we need to do now."

"But it was different then," Theo reminded him. "They were our _enemies_ then, and we didn't fucking aim those wands. But this time - " he shook his head. "This time, if you want the Dark Lord to trust you again, you'll have to cast the _Avada_ yourself _._ "

 _I know,_ Draco wanted to say, but couldn't; it seemed too painful to admit.

"We can't keep them all safe if he doesn't trust us," Draco muttered instead, straining to convince himself. "Not just Potter and Granger," he added, "but Daphne and Pansy too. It'll be worth it. It's better for all of us that way." He paused, registering the clumsily forced positivity in his voice and feeling a mirror of Theo's obvious skepticism. "It'll be fine if we can think of something to prove that we're - "

"That we're what?" Theo cut in sharply. "That we're loyal?" he asked, with a loud bark of laughter. "To who, even? To what? To Potter's fucking righteous cause?" He laughed again, harder this time, and the sound was tinged with an incomprehensible ache. "Are you in the Order or not, Draco?"

Draco let out a growl of frustration, wishing he felt steady enough to punch Theo in the mouth. "This is not the fucking _Order_ ," he said bluntly. "We are not _heroes,_ Theo. We're not _them -_ "

"Then what are we?" Theo seethed, looking helpless. "Draco, what the fuck is this?"

Draco wanted desperately to sob, or vomit, or sleep for a thousand years. "I don't know," he said. "I don't know, I just - I can't - " he shook his head, surrendering to a manic surge of babbling. "I lost my father, Theo, I lost my mother, I lost a world that made any sense to me and I just - I'm _lost,_ " he said metallically, "I'm fucking _lost_."

Sympathy reshaped itself in Theo's eyes.

"Maybe I'm asking too much," Theo sighed eventually, gripping his shoulder.

"Maybe," Draco muttered.

The silence was heavy, and burdened with thought.

"Theo," Draco said eventually, as the truth of the realization sank in. "We need a body." He took a shaky breath. "We need someone, and I can't tell her. I can't," he began, and faltered. "I don't want her to - "

"You don't want her to see what you're capable of," Theo finished flatly. Draco drew a hand to his face, forcing a nod and hearing his father's voice taunt him, laughing at him from afar.

Suddenly it all seemed too much.

He'd been prepared long before this for the possibility that he could die; with her, because of her, _for_ her. He'd been prepared to suffer, to feel pain, if only for the purpose of keeping her safe. What he hadn't considered was what brand of immorality he might have to commit for her, or whether she might think less of him if he did.

 _I have blood on my hands_ , he had told her, and he had seen the flicker of something in her eye. The sum of his parts, the meagerness of his being; the glow of her face in the dark. Inevitability and punishment, and the cost of keeping her safe.

He fell back, sinking into the sofa. "I can't let her see," he whispered, and Theo stood rigidly still for a moment, watching him, before finally collapsing beside him.

"Are you with me?" Draco murmured, turning to look at him.

Theo shut his eyes.

"Yes," he said bitterly, his mouth twitching. "Until we fucking die."

* * *

When Hermione finally heard sound coming from the Floo, she leapt to her feet, half running to the doorway and abandoning a now freshly-stunned Cormac behind her. Draco appeared first in the corridor, head bent, with Theo a half-step at his heels.

"How was it?" she asked breathlessly, reaching for him, but the stiff look of warning on Theo's face kept her at bay. When Draco looked up to meet her eye, Hermione gasped, a hand floating to her mouth against her will.

"Fine," he said tightly.

Draco's face was cut and bruised, his lip gashed and swollen and his skin colorless and drawn, shadows blossoming under his eyes as if he'd aged several years in the scattered handful of hours he'd been gone. His shirt was torn open, parting slightly as he moved and revealing a bandage wrapped around his ribs; her gaze traveled over the scattered marks that marred the pale skin of his chest, gruesomely fresh beside the scars she'd only just grown accustomed to seeing. He looked sobered, tested, tormented. He looked mercilessly hunted, and brutally punished.

But he did not look broken.

"Draco," she whispered, and behind her, Harry let out a breath.

"Fuck," he muttered, leaping over Cormac's unconscious form to stare questioningly between Draco and Theo, his mouth falling open. "What the fuck did he do to you?"

Theo glanced at Draco, whose expression didn't change.

"Nothing," Draco said, and Theo let out a loud scoff.

"Right," he muttered, and Draco angled his head to the side, his grey eyes flicking warningly to Theo's green ones. "Oh, my apologies," Theo corrected himself sarcastically, "as you can all see, it went perfectly smoothly."

Theo was angrier than Hermione had seen him, coiled and clipped and bothered; there was a particularly unsettled energy to his posture, to the tightness of his fists. At a worried glance askance from Harry, she could tell she wasn't the only one to see it, but Draco's silence was telling. Beside them, Pansy cleared her throat loudly.

"Well," she drawled. "Welcome home."

Draco looked at Hermione, catching her eye and staring for a moment, before something seemed to change in his gaze. "I'm going to lie down," he said, offering her a curt nod. "Pans," he acknowledged, "Daph." He glanced down, catching Cormac's form. "Person I'll deal with later," he sighed, and shook his head before turning, aiming himself at the stairs.

Hermione froze for a moment, uncertain, before glancing up at Theo.

"The Dark Lord," Theo offered her in explanation once Draco had gone. "He used legilimency on Draco looking for proof that you were dead. I planted a modified memory." He pursed his lips, crossing his arms over his chest. "As you can see, the whole thing went rather fucking poorly."

Hermione frowned, still not understanding. "But does You-Know-Who think that - "

"Oh, he believes that you're dead," Theo assured her. She noticed he wouldn't meet her eye, but tried not to comment. "You're safe," he added bitterly, letting out a gruff rumble of laughter. "You don't have to worry about it."

Harry set his jaw, frowning. "I take it Malfoy's not so safe, then."

Theo's eyes flashed; either at the truth of the statement, or at the source of it, or both. "What do you care, Potter?" he spat, and after so many years having heard a similar tone, Hermione instantly recognized the elevation in the statement; an invitation to a baseless fight.

"Hey," Harry snapped, taking another step to bring himself eye to eye with Theo, never one to resist. " _I'm_ not the one who tortured him, Nott."

"No, you aren't, Potter, but you don't really give a fuck either, do you?" Theo demanded, scowling.

"Theo," Daphne warned, rising to her feet, but Theo shook his head, not looking at her. Instead he looked past Harry to Hermione, his gaze finding hers in a warning. _I will choose him over all of you,_ he reminded her silently, fight carved into his shoulders.

She opened her mouth to say something but Theo, catching himself, took a step backwards to withdraw from the room, from the conversation, and from any interaction with her. "I need a drink," he muttered, and then turned on his heel, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

"Theo, _wait_ ," Daphne called after him as she hurriedly closed the few steps to the door, but Harry stepped in her path, catching her arm gently.

"Let me," he murmured, and when she offered him a tentative nod, he jogged slowly after Theo, both of them disappearing into the darkness of the corridor.

Hermione cleared her throat, blinking, staring after them long after they'd gone until her thoughts drifted again with horror to the cuts on Draco's face; to the blood she knew had been spilled. "I need to - "

"Go," Pansy said lazily, and Hermione shook herself of her reservations, her steps quickening as she aimed herself at Draco.

He was sitting on his bed with his back to her when she slid in through the doorway. He'd removed his shirt, the bandage starkly white as the dark grey wash of late afternoon slipped in through the drapes behind him. He was looking at nothing, unmoving, and at the sound of her footsteps he didn't turn but dropped his chin, staring at his hands.

 _A Prince so steeped in sun_ , she thought sadly, _who knew, somewhere in his soul, that no rightful King would seek to punish so recklessly, nor capture so cruelly._

"Maybe you and Potter should take Daphne and go," he muttered once she'd shut the door behind her. He fidgeted for a moment, his shoulders adjusting to the weight as he added softly, "it might be safer."

Hermione paused, watching him from afar. "Do you," she began, and then flinched apprehensively. "Do you want me to go?"

His chin jerked slightly; a sharp motion she didn't immediately know how to read.

"I watched you die today," he whispered.

She crept forward, climbing onto the bed and settling herself behind him, resting her lips against the line of his shoulder. For a moment she stayed that way, warmed by him and warming him, watching the unblemished smoothness of his skin ripple in a shiver that blossomed and then soothed at her touch, rejoicing in it. He tilted his head, making room for her, and she slid her legs on either side of his, wrapped around him like an anchor.

She began where he extinguished. _Are we that connected?_

Like pieces made to fit. _Aren't we?_

"I'm alive," she promised him. "You saved my life."

He leaned his head back, letting her cradle it against the dip of her shoulder.

"I'd do anything for you," he said after a moment. "Anything to save you."

 _If you lose, I lose -_

He swallowed, and she felt the motion of it nudge her cheek. "What's funny," he continued, "and what's terrible is that the things I would do for you are exactly the things that would make you hate me, and _still,_ " he choked out emphatically, "still, I'd rather have you alive and against me before I would ever put anything above you." He shifted, looking her in the eye. "So," he muttered. "What was the question?"

She rested her forehead against his and wrapped her arms around him, feeling his lungs fill beneath her touch. "What are you offering me?"

"Nothing," he said dully, a reflex, and then paused to shake his head. "Well, everything," he amended. "The nothing that I am, but all of it. It's yours." She centered her palm on his heart, capturing the pulse of it, and he closed his eyes, reaching up to brush his fingers against her knuckles.

"It's not enough for you, and it's not as much as you deserve," he said softly, "but you will never have to question it."

She took his hand in hers, staring at his Mark and hearing Bill's voice in her ear; _when you are adding the sum of his parts, don't you dare discount the brand of hatred he let them burn into his arm._

"These terrible things you would do," she commented, and faltered for a moment, trying not to laugh; trying not to let him see as clearly as she felt it how much none of it would matter, that they would be burdened by pasts and secrets and errors and yet it would never be the burden that others might have wanted her to feel.

"You think I can't forgive the blood on your hands?" she whispered, and he looked up at her, his grey eyes awash in warning, in mourning, buried in clips and glimpses of desolate futures she never wished to see. _Where would you be a step back?_

 _Here,_ she thought, closing her eyes as she kissed his hand. _Here, and sooner._

* * *

 _I have blood on my hands,_ he thought, stiffening. He opened his mouth to answer, to tell her _it will only get worse, I will only bring you pain, you will never look at me and not see death and error and destruction,_ but she pressed her lips to his palm, exhaling slowly, and he thought instead _maybe I was made for you -_

He recalled thinking that the girl he'd known had come back to haunt him, and considered again the many ways he had been so desperately wrong. He had buried his face in her hair - _sorrow_ \- held her shaking shoulders while she sobbed - _grief_ \- and all the while had suffered a warning pain in his chest, a pang that echoed through the depths of him; that told him she wasn't there to haunt him, but if he let her, she could very well destroy him. _Maybe I was made for you_ , he thought again.

 _Maybe I will burn for you._

"Once there were gods that roamed the expanse of the earth, the heavens, and the realms of death," she whispered. "And there was a daughter of earth, a girl, whose life's purpose was to permit the world to flourish, and to be abundant in gifts of nature. She, a creator and bearer of goodness, was crafted to give of herself unto others, and she did. She gave all of herself until she was emptied, drained by a world of unhindered need."

He tightened his fingers in her hair, trying not to shudder at the falseness he could still see of her behind closed eyes; the dull and colorless and lifeless. But once she spoke in his ear, he knew it hadn't been her - that it would never be her, despite what he'd seen and how real it had felt. That whatever happened, however much of herself that she gave, she would never fade for him.

Slowly, the tightness in his chest began to ease.

"Then one day the girl was walking, and she stumbled into the realm of death," Hermione continued, "and she met a god, but one who was confined to reign over spirits. To rule them, but be haunted by them," she murmured, "trapped in a place where nothing could be nurtured, and little but misery permitted to grow."

"Lost in a world she was supposed to fear and abhor, the girl found she was drawn to him, to the flicker of light in a place bathed in darkness, and she grew close to him in her time in his realm, learning the trials of his soul. And for a fleeting time, what might have been torment and hell became something like freedom; and she, who had always been made to give, wanted for nothing, and he, who had long been reviled, found company in the resilience of her heart. But the earth, who pined in her absence, grew vengeful in her sorrow, demanding the girl's return; so the god of the dead then offered her a choice - to stay with him, and let others suffer, or to leave, and return to a life of servitude in giving."

"The girl ate from a pomegranate that had grown amidst the realm of spirits, calculating her choice; to be selfish in parts, and fruitful in others, and to long for a man who shone in darkness in the parting of herself." She paused, reaching up to brush his hair from his forehead. "To want a man who was so steeped in sun," she whispered, "that even in their separation, he was bright in the depths of her night. And to make a home with him, beside him," she added, "even if it couldn't last."

He stared down at his palm - _I have blood on my hands_ \- before meeting her eye - _maybe I'm made for you._

"So you're saying I'm in hell," Draco joked bitterly, and she gave him a weary smile, a bit of warmth tugging at her lips. "But you'll stay with me?"

"Something like that," she murmured, and he leaned in to steal a kiss from her lips, perishing in the depths of her brightness.

* * *

 **a/n:** dedicated to Kyonomiko, who is the best. Story inspiration from the Greek myth of Persephone and Hades.


	24. The Soul Jar

**Chapter 24: The Soul Jar**

* * *

 _ **1998**_

* * *

"I hate being back here," Theo said, shivering a little at the early onset of winter as the portkey deposited them just outside the Three Broomsticks. "It's fucking _eerie_ ," he muttered under his breath, and Draco found he couldn't disagree.

Theo rubbed at his left wrist, grimacing, and Draco forced himself to look away from the motion, though he didn't know what would bother him more - the silhouette of the broken castle in the distance, or the Mark on Theo's wrist.

It seemed that everywhere Draco looked, the landscape was ruined.

"I could have taken Goyle, you know," Draco offered, clearing his throat as they walked towards Hogwarts. "You didn't have to come."

Theo snorted loudly. "As if I'd let that happen," he grunted disdainfully, rolling his eyes. "You know Goyle's useless."

"Still," Draco protested weakly, though the festering guilt in his intestines was hardly about _this_ ; this was only one errand - one menial task - amidst a foaming sea of regrets. "You didn't have to take it, you know," he said, his attention returning uneasily to Theo's concealed wrist.

Theo glanced up, meeting Draco's eye with a grim, unfailing certainty. "I didn't have a choice," he started to say, but Draco cut him off with a scowl.

"You had a choice, Theo," he snapped gruffly. "You did. _I_ did." Draco forced a swallow, shaking his head. "Everyone always has a choice."

Theo waited a moment, his thumb stilling against his wrist before letting both of his hands drift to his sides. "Well," he murmured, shrugging. "I guess I chose not to let you do this alone, then."

Draco sighed at that; he felt gratitude bubble up in his lungs but when words failed, he nodded mutely. They walked in silence the rest of the way to the castle, listening to the sounds of their feet over the slush of a half-hearted snowfall.

"Zabini," Theo said with surprise, catching sight of him first in the castle courtyard. "Didn't know we were meeting _you_."

Blaise turned over his shoulder, nodding once at them. "Malfoy, Nott," he offered amiably. "Amycus is otherwise occupied."

"Doing what?" Draco asked, but Blaise shrugged.

"Nothing I feel like asking questions about," Blaise supplied carelessly. He drew a hand up, nudging an itch from his forehead; Draco caught a glimpse of scarring on the inside of his arm, but chose to say nothing.

"How is he?" Draco asked quietly. "Are you - " _okay,_ he wanted to ask, but it didn't seem right. The question would have only invited lies; Blaise seemed to grasp his intent, though, and offered him a listless shrug.

"Amycus isn't the most stable of taskmasters, but he's hardly the most attentive, either," Blaise said with a grimace. "It's this or be a Snatcher, really, and I'm hardly cut out for that."

"What's Carrow got you doing?" Theo asked, and Blaise shrugged again.

"Working on the castle, mostly," he supplied. "There's one room in particular that's fucking burnt to a crisp, but for whatever reason he wants me to salvage it."

"The Room of Requirement," Draco murmured, recognizing the reference, and Blaise looked up, surprised.

"You know it?"

Draco nodded. "Spent most of sixth year in there," he said, but didn't elaborate. "Part of me was glad Crabbe destroyed it."

"What did it do?" Blaise asked.

"Whatever you wanted it to do," Draco replied. "I spent most of my time in the Room of Hidden Things, but the room can turn into whatever you need it to be."

"Huh," Blaise said, frowning. "Explains why he wants it fixed so badly, I guess."

"Lost cause," Draco ruled, shaking his head. "Fiendfyre's not exactly something an object can come back from - even a sentient castle."

"Is the castle still alive, you think?" Theo asked, shuddering as he looked around, eyeing the walls. "Weird to think of it being - " he hesitated. "In pain, somehow."

Blaise made a face. "It's stone, not a pet, Theodore," he said briskly, though Draco caught a glint of sympathy in his eye. "And let's hope it _is_ still alive, as I could do with another room like that one."

"Maybe it made another one," Theo suggested. "You think Hogwarts might be like a salamander?" he joked. "You cut off a limb and it just grows another in its place?"

"The castle had staircases that moved around just to fuck with us," Draco reminded him. "I'm sure it could grow itself a new pocket of mystery if it really wanted to."

"I should find out more about this place," Blaise remarked, eyeing the stone pillars of the courtyard with a new sense of discomfort. "I never touched that stupid book we were all supposed to have."

"Yeah, well, what was the point?" Draco agreed, shrugging. "It's not like I needed a book to tell me the Great Hall was enchanted to look like the night sky." He let out a scoff. "I have eyes," he muttered, and Blaise chuckled.

"You won't be working here long, will you?" Theo asked, turning to Blaise. "I thought you were aiming for a Mark."

"I am," Blaise said coolly. "But it turns out I don't have much of a pedigree, so it appears I'm being made to jump through hoops."

"Servitude to Amycus," Theo determined with a shudder. "Fucking nightmarish."

"Not ideal," Blaise agreed. "But hopefully it won't take long. A little work on the castle, a little proving my worth, and then - "

"Bam," Theo supplied, grimacing. "Marked."

Draco shifted uneasily, struggling to stomach the thought. "Maybe you're better off here," he said slowly, and Blaise flashed him a look of deep displeasure.

"Says you," he muttered. Draco didn't push it.

"So," Theo chirped, attempting to ease the tension. "Everyone's a Slytherin now, eh? Makes winning the House Cup a bit easier, I'd guess."

"No points anymore," Blaise returned flatly, his eyes holding Draco's before he slowly shifted to face Theo. "Incentives have transitioned from carrot to stick."

"Ah," Theo acknowledged uneasily. "Ideal."

" _Crucio,_ then, I take it?" Draco asked, and Blaise nodded.

"On teachers and staff, too," he added, forcing a darkened smile; Draco's stomach turned, his attention drifting back to the marks on Blaise's wrists and hands. "We're all on our best behavior around here."

There was an uncomfortable pause.

"Okay, well, look - I can't pretend this isn't morbid as fuck," Theo said, blanching. "So maybe we should just - "

"We got what we wanted, boys," Blaise cut in, his smile cutting and sharp. "This _is_ what we fought for, wasn't it?" He laughed, letting it carry through the courtyard. "Or what we didn't fight _against_ , at least," he amended, and the smile slipped to a grimace. "Every mudblood and blood traitor we mocked, every time we stood against Potter and Dumbledore. Everything we ever fucking did or said." He shook his head, looking half-mad at the thought. "Isn't this precisely what we imagined?"

His dark eyes met Draco's, tacitly casting blame.

"Yeah," Draco muttered, accepting it. "This was the dream."

Theo cleared his throat loudly, glancing between them. "Well," he said, his volume a touch too high, "I think we can agree this shit is fucked, so maybe let's just - " he shrugged. "Deal."

Blaise exhaled sharply. "Yeah," he agreed, shaking himself of the moment. "The book he wanted," he reminded himself, reaching into his pocket. "It's cursed as fuck," he explained, handing them a small box. "I transfigured it and put it in this box. _Do not_ open it," he warned. "There's an antidote, and I can technically brew it, but it would take months and there's no telling whether your cock would ever be the same, so - "

"Fucking hell, Zabini," Theo said, aghast. "What'd you do that for?"

" _I_ am not the one who cursed it," Blaise said irritably. " _I_ simply put it in a box, and now it's on you to deliver it."

"Threatening my cock, though?" Theo asked, making a face. "Really?"

Blaise shrugged. "Think of it as a compelling reason not to be too curious," he said, and Draco shook his head, half-laughing.

"Thanks, Blaise," he said, accepting the box in his palm. "I think." He glanced down, closing a hand around it before tucking it in his pocket. "What book is it?"

" _Secrets of the Darkest Art,_ " Blaise supplied. "You know," he added flippantly. "Just a little light reading for his Lordship."

"Fair enough," Draco muttered, fighting a shudder. "I'll let him know the craftsmanship is yours."

"Appreciated," Blaise said coolly, nodding once. "I'm picking up a few tricks here and there."

"Well, our cocks certainly thank you for it," Theo said, offering him an irreverent bow. "Until next time?"

"Until next time," Blaise agreed. "Maybe a drink next time you're in Hogsmeade."

"Sure," Draco said, though he doubted very much he'd be back unless it was absolutely necessary. The castle, which had once felt so comfortingly like home, now thrummed with a quiet purr of animosity; a hardened sense of _get out,_ like it knew it had been betrayed. Like it knew, somehow, that Draco was at fault; that he was entirely to blame.

Draco doubted very much that he'd ever want to relive it.

"Well, that was horrifying," Theo muttered as they walked back to Hogsmeade, their feet treading contemplatively through the slush. Draco glanced askance to watch Theo toying with his wrist again, his thumb pressed against his pulse.

"Cormac," they heard from around the corner, and Draco paused, holding a hand out for Theo to pause mid-stride. "Please, you know I can't do this again."

"Ginny," another voice replied desperately, "I - I can't - please don't - "

"Weaslette," Theo murmured in Draco's ear, and he nodded.

"You need to stay away from me, okay?" she said. "You need to understand that this _cannot happen -_ "

"He's _dead,_ Ginny," the man replied, a sense of urgency in his tone. "If this is about him - "

"It isn't," Weasley interrupted insistently. "It's not, and I can't - I can't talk about it, but I need you to _leave,_ Cormac, and you can't keep coming back - "

 _McLaggen?_ Theo mouthed to Draco, who shrugged.

"You're almost done with school," he protested, "and I know your parents and your brothers are being watched. If you came with me, if you - " he hesitated, and Theo made a face at Draco, suggestively arching a brow. "If you married me, Ginny, I could keep you safe - I would keep you safe, Ginny, _please_ \- "

"You can't possibly believe that's true," Weasley spat back, an edge of defiance in her tone. "You have no idea what it's like for me."

"If you would just _tell_ me - "

"It's a long story, Cormac, and I don't have time to tell it," Weasley sighed. "Okay? I just - I fucked up when I was eleven years old, and I'll never - I can't - "

Draco glanced curiously at Theo.

"Please," McLaggen said. "Please, you just - you don't understand." There was a slight rustle, as though he'd stepped in closer. "You make me forget what I am," he said softly, and Theo made an outrageously ill-timed expression of repulsion.

"Well," Weasley sighed. "You can't forget, Cormac, and neither can I."

"Ginny - Ginny, _wait_ \- "

"Come on, she's coming this way," Draco muttered, dragging Theo forward and then promptly arranging a feigned mask of ignorance as she stormed past them, her red hair startlingly bright against the monotony of everything - the sky, the town, the circumstances. She glanced up once, her brow furrowed, but pushed past them without looking back.

In the moment, watching Weasley's eyes flash with hatred when she saw him, Draco thought absurdly of Granger; he wondered where she was for an odd, unsettling hiccup of time, and then he wondered whether he'd see the same look in her eyes.

Wondered, too, if she was even _alive_.

"Well, good to know some people have it worse," Theo remarked with insincere brightness, rattling Draco out of the thought.

"Yeah," Draco said gruffly. He headed for the portkey, trying furiously to block out the looming shadow of the ravaged castle behind him. "What a relief," he lied.

* * *

 _ **2005 (Present)**_

* * *

Draco hadn't slept. He couldn't.

 _This is bigger than the two of you -_

His ribs throbbed dully, the force of a shallow breath enough to make him feel he could be torn open from the inside out.

 _Do you want me to love her less?_

Hermione shifted towards him, her eyes fluttering open. She looked contemplative; perhaps she hadn't been sleeping either.

"Do you dream in color?" she asked.

An odd question; a relief, in some ways. Something other than _what now, what now, what the fuck do we do now?_

Draco paused, considering his answer.

"Sometimes," he said slowly.

She raised a finger to his cheek, tracing it down his jaw. "And others?"

He closed his eyes. "Sometimes I see everything in shades of grey," he admitted. "Like I'm moving through an unchanging backdrop. Minimal contrast. Like the dials of everything are turned down."

"Could you" - a brush against his lip - "turn them up?"

"I think I'm afraid to," he confessed. "I think a part of me is convinced that if I were to focus on any single thing - to see it for what it is," he clarified, "it might - " he paused. "It might be blinding."

He felt her nod, and he opened his eyes to see her watching him curiously, her eyes narrowed as though she were toying with the details of his face in her mind.

"Sometimes when I dream there are flashes of light," she murmured. "Something that comes from behind me. There's a moment," she continued, looking far away, "where everything's illuminated, and I can see for miles, and then I catch something on the ground. My shadow." Draco nodded. "And that's when I notice - " she inhaled sharply. "That's when I realize there's no color at all," she finished quietly. "And then the light's gone."

He tucked a curl behind her ear, letting out a breath he hadn't known he was holding as they touched. "Think it means something?"

She made a little sound of opposition; more a mewl than a scoff, though it could have been either. "Divination is stupid," she said flatly in answer, and he chuckled.

"Divination isn't inherently stupid. Trelawney was," he conceded, grimacing. "But Divination doesn't have to be."

"Doesn't it?" she countered, pursing her lips. "Nothing really means anything. My tea leaves," she offered with a scowl, "aren't determining my future."

"The tea leaves tell you nothing," Draco agreed. "But doesn't what you see mean something?"

"That's psychology," Hermione said, with a brush of brusque impatience. "Not Divination."

He shrugged. "Does what you call something change what it is?" he countered. "The concept stands. That things mean something when we assign them meaning." He paused. "The stories you tell," he reminded her. "They mean something because you give them meaning."

She hummed thoughtfully, tilting her head to look at him; altering her view, he supposed. "You know, I just realized something," she said softly, a smile twitching at her lips. "I think I've just figured out that you're a magical being."

He half frowned, half laughed. "What?"

"The stories," she offered ambiguously. "They're written by Muggles who imagine that out there, _somewhere_ \- in worlds they can't touch or see or reach - there are gods and princes and sorcerers. Monsters and kings." She drifted for a moment, lost in something in her head, and then she smiled. "You don't just do magic," she murmured, touching his cheek. "You _are_ magic."

"So are you," he said slowly, and she shook her head.

"No, it's different for me," she said. "I cross back and forth between a line of what can exist, and what I've seen. You, though." She took a deep breath, then emptied her lungs with a weighted sigh. "You were born into a world I only imagined."

 _This is bigger than the two of you -_

"It's your world as much as it is mine," he said tentatively.

She gave him a look of withering skepticism. "It's not my world," she said, with a sharpness that left him cold, like a sudden chill. "I'm the sickness your world is trying to stamp out." She rolled onto her back, looking up at the ceiling. "I'm the sickness, and this war is a fever," she whispered into nothing. "It's trying to sweat me out, bleed me dry."

"That's not true," he offered weakly, but he didn't need to see the look in her eye to know that it was to some extent a lie.

 _Do you want me to love her less?_

"The blood on your hands," she mused. "Is that what this is about for you? Atonement?"

It always came back to that.

 _Cursed from birth, and we taught ourselves to hide -_

"Atonement," he permitted. "In a sense."

Something tugged at her mouth. "Redemption?"

 _You don't want her to see what you're capable of -_

"Redemption," he allowed.

She turned to lift her chin, propping herself up on her elbow and looking down at him, her brow furrowed in thought.

"Anything else?"

 _You make me forget what I am._

 _Do you want me to love her less?_

He forced himself to shrug. "Contrast," he offered neutrally, and she managed a smile.

"Are you hurting?" she asked tangentially, reaching out to lay the pads of her fingers across the bandage on his ribs. "Is there anything I can do?"

"It's not so bad," he replied. "Reminds me I'm alive," he added, making a face. "Or something like that."

She slipped out from the covers, glancing over her shoulder to roll her eyes at him as she bent to the pile of clothes Pansy had given her. "Well no need to rub it in," she muttered. "Some of us have to be dead, as you might recall."

Draco forced himself upright, grimacing. "I do," he murmured back, and she glanced over her shoulder, giving him a look that was part apology, perhaps, and part something else he couldn't define; he suspected it was gratitude, only that wouldn't have made sense.

She picked up a dress; _not the right color for her_ , he thought as he watched, and then marveled internally that such a concept would even occur to him. The dress was a pale pink, dainty, probably chosen to warm Pansy's cool complexion, to give her a sense of delicate fragility that _she_ did not otherwise possess. But suddenly Draco felt a rush of something as he watched the fabric rustle across the room, an imagining of Hermione; warming in the sun, golden, blissful, but draped in something _blue_ , he thought. Something dark at first, and deep, but without the shallow trick of light that was pastel; without the putrid innocence of pink, the pale imitation of beauty. _Something blue_ , he thought instead, _like night._

The night girl.

"Can you help me?" she asked, turning over her shoulder. He rose to his feet, joining her.

"The zipper?" he asked quietly, and she nodded, holding her breath as his hand slipped between her shoulder blades. He paused, running his fingers along her spine before pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. He shivered; _a fever,_ he heard her say, and ached. "Or," he whispered, pulling her back against his bare chest and watching her eyes close as her head fell against his shoulder, "we could - "

"Open up, kids," Pansy's voice bellowed, banging on his door. "We've got shit to do this morning."

Draco let out a breath. "Perfect," he muttered, as Hermione let out a breathless laugh.

* * *

"Listen," Pansy drawled, leaning against the doorframe and smirking as she met Hermione's eye, "while I'm all for fucking Draco - "

" _Pansy_ ," Draco barked impatiently, but Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Pansy, if you're going to try to antagonize me with history, it's not going to work," Hermione informed her, arching a brow. "Or should we have to all relive 'he's there, grab him'?"

Pansy grinned. "Aw, but I thought you _liked_ history, Granger," she purred, and reached out, taking hold of the soft chiffon fabric. "Anyway," Pansy continued briskly, abruptly shifting gears, "it's good to see you've managed to put on something nice."

"What's with you and my clothes?" Hermione asked somewhat indignantly, making a face.

Pansy's dark eyes went luminescent for a moment, flashing once, and then her smile cooled. "I just find it's easier to look at you this way," she murmured, crossing her arms over her chest and holding Hermione's stare.

"You see what she's _really_ saying, don't you?" Luna commented, whispering in Hermione's ear. "She's trying to take care of you," she declared impishly, with her usual vacant smile. "It's sort of sweet, really, if you can get past the venom."

Hermione stiffened. "Yes," she said loudly, shaking herself of the hallucination and focusing again on Pansy. "So, what is it that you needed?"

Pansy frowned for a moment, catching the blip in Hermione's disposition, but shrugged. "Two things," she announced, as Draco joined them in the frame. "We need to work out what we're going to do about Cormac - "

"Cormac," Draco echoed. "McLaggen?" He frowned. "Is _that_ who that was?"

"Yes," Pansy agreed. "And _then_ we really need to figure out who is staying where in this house, since this is apparently the new headquarters - "

"This is not headquarters," Draco protested. "This is _my house,_ " he said for the thousandth time, "and there's just - "

"A bunch of fugitives residing in it?" Pansy prompted primly. "Well, good news, Draco, you don't have to confess to living in reality," she added snottily, "you just have to clean out some rooms."

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at Draco, watching him press two fingers to the bridge of his nose. "Cormac first?" she prompted, and he sighed.

"Cormac first," he muttered, pulling a shirt over his chest with a wince and then gesturing out, looking distinctly sulky.

They came downstairs to find that Daphne, Theo, and Harry were all sitting around a sizable dining table in a room that Hermione had never noticed before. She turned, startled, to glance questioningly at Draco. "Is this - " she paused, hoping she wasn't seeing things. "Was this room here before?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Draco muttered, scrubbing at his eyes. "The house is fucking _shifting._ "

"Well, the Order needs more room," Harry said smarmily, raising a cup of coffee in mock salute just as Paul suddenly appeared beside him, brandishing a freshly brewed pot. Beside Harry, Theo's mouth twitched slightly; he looked better, Hermione noted, and less angry, but his gaze was warily following Draco's movements around the room, sharply unwavering.

"This is not the Order, Potter," Draco growled. "You _and_ my house need to stop this immediately."

"We're not exactly conspiring against you," Harry reminded him. "You _did_ let all of us in."

"This is not the time to relive my own idiocy, Potter," Draco snapped indignantly. "Or do we not have yet another miscreant wandering my house?"

"Oh, I'm not wandering," Cormac said, materializing in the doorway. "I just stepped out."

Draco threw his hands in the air. "Fuck me," he groaned, and Hermione, bewildered as she was, stifled a laugh.

"Hey, Paul, was it?" Cormac asked the elf, taking a seat beside Daphne. He held up the mug in his hand, tapping it. "Got anything stronger?"

"You are _not_ drinking," Pansy warned. "No alcohol for him, Paul."

"Yes, Mistress," Paul squawked regally, bowing low, before making a surly face of disapproval at Cormac.

"Parkinson, you've got to be kidding me," Cormac began, but Pansy shook her head, stepping around the table to swat the back of his head.

"That's the deal, okay?" she prompted. "You need to be useful. And _that_ means you need to be sober."

"Deal?" Hermione echoed. She turned to Draco, expecting to see confusion on his face, but noticed he was engaging in some type of silent conversation with Theo; she caught a gesture from Theo out of the corner of her eye and a corresponding motion of disapproval from Draco.

"Has anyone bothered to tether him, at least?" Draco prompted. "Last I checked, he was unconscious, so I'm not sure what happened - "

"What _happened_ is that he proved himself rather useful," Pansy supplied, and Daphne nodded solemnly.

"He really is," she supplied. "He's been explaining how the Snatchers work."

"Yes," Theo drawled in agreement, joining the fray. "Like, for example, he informed us that _we_ " - he gestured between himself and Draco - "are currently flagged."

Draco frowned. "What?"

Cormac forced down a swallow of coffee, making a face before gesturing for Draco and Hermione to sit. "I'll explain it," he said. "Might take a while, but - "

"It's not that complicated," Pansy interrupted, sniffing. "You fucked up, Draco, and you've been flagged."

"Pansy," Draco snapped, "I _swear_ \- "

"Here's the deal," Cormac interrupted. "Apparation is tracked, right?"

Draco sighed. "Right," he muttered, and Hermione looked sharply at him, surprised. "Well, for those of us who don't already live off the grid, this is something we have to worry about," he explained to her, and Cormac nodded.

"The thing is, all Snatchers have one of these," Cormac went on, holding up an object that looked like a wristwatch. "It's registered to each Snatcher's wand. So I would only have to" - he waved his wand over the watch - "do _this_ , and then - "

He paused, and a projection of a partial map appeared in the air above the dining table.

"What the fuck?" Draco asked, staring at it. "What's this?"

"This is my current assigned area," Cormac explained. "Obviously I'm not currently in it, but - "

"This is Hogsmeade," Hermione realized suddenly, and Cormac nodded.

"I'm assigned there right now," he explained. "There's a portkey I have to take to my next location in about six hours."

"So quit dawdling, McLaggen, and tell them what you told us," Pansy sniffed, and he glared at her, but consented to continue.

"Rather than use Ministry resources, which can be extremely slow, You-Know-Who relies on Snatchers to keep track of people's activities and whereabouts," Cormac explained. "If he wants someone watched, he tells Rowle, and Rowle updates the database." He waved his wand again and the map shifted, revealing a list of names. "You-Know-Who and the Ministry aren't able to follow everyone's movements all the time, so everyone gets quietly tracked." He gestured to the updating coordinates in the database; people in motion, Hermione assumed, as the scripted numbers changed to follow locations. "Then, if someone is flagged, or if someone visits a flagged location, that person's name turns red and they stick out on the map."

"And that includes us?" Draco asked, glancing at Theo. "We're flagged?"

"You've been flagged for about a month," Cormac told him. "Nott was flagged yesterday."

"Both for Granger-related reasons, I'm sure," Theo contributed lazily. Hermione glanced up, startled, but he didn't seem to be mocking her; he leaned back in his chair, resting his head back and waiting for Draco's reaction.

"What does that mean?" Draco asked slowly, not looking at her or Theo as he addressed Cormac. "Is that why Smith said he was keeping an eye on me?"

"Probably," Cormac said, shrugging. "Being flagged just means that if you go anywhere out of the ordinary, then any Snatcher nearby can see you on the map and pick you up. This," he said, switching back to the map, "lets them know what to do when they find you."

"Do?" Hermione echoed.

Cormac grimaced. "Whether you're worth more alive or dead," he clarified, and she shuddered.

"Wait," Draco said, suddenly panicked as he bolted upright in his chair. "But I should be at Malfoy Manor - so does that mean - "

"Malfoy Manor is unplottable," Cormac assured him. "So is this place. It says you're in an unplottable location, which any Snatcher would assume is your home."

"Oh," Draco said, looking relieved. "But if I tried to go - "

"If you went anywhere else without express permission," Cormac offered slowly, "without a permit, for example, you could be arrested."

"Fuck," Draco exhaled. "But I'm - "

"A Death Eater?" Cormac guessed, and grimaced. "Yeah, it's pretty rare that a Death Eater is flagged. This isn't good news for you at all." He glanced at Theo, who stared back stonily. "For either of you, I should say."

"What about - " Hermione inhaled sharply. "What about me? Or Harry?"

"Neither of you are using wands that are registered with the Ministry," Cormac assured her. "Magic itself might register, but you wouldn't be listed as a known person on the map."

"Who else is flagged?" Draco asked, and Cormac switched back to the database.

"Greengrass," he said, scanning. "You and Theo. Smith," he added, looking around. "Where is he?"

"I told him to sleep," Pansy said, yawning. "He was boring me."

"Boring you?" Cormac asked, and she shrugged.

"He's too vacantly cheerful. It was irksome," she said stiffly.

"Why tell us all this?" Draco interrupted, leaning towards Cormac. "What's in it for you?"

Hermione nodded, equally curious, and Cormac let out a slow, confessionary sigh.

"I heard you're going to break into the Lestrange Estate to take Ginny Weasley back," Cormac said simply. "Potter and I agreed that I would show you the ins and outs of the Snatcher network in exchange for me being there when you do it."

"What?" Hermione asked, blinking, and beside her, Draco burst into laughter.

"We are _not_ doing that," Draco ruled, pulling at his mouth and letting the sound disintegrate to a chuckle before pausing, the other eyes at his table finding his. "Wait," he said, aghast. "Are we actually doing that?"

"Sounds fun," Luna chirped in Hermione's ear, and she jerked forward, shaking her away. Theo looked up, his eyes narrowing as he caught the motion.

"Of course we are," Harry said, unfazed. "With your approval, of course, Malfoy," he added sing-songily, "seeing as you're the new leader of the Order."

Draco's face turned scarlet. "I am _not_ \- "

"Who would do it?" Hermione cut in breathlessly. "You can't go, Harry," she told him quickly, "you're _much_ too valuable - "

"Me," Daphne said instantly. "And you," she added, smiling at Hermione. "I know the house, and _you're_ dead, so - "

"No," Draco trumpeted brusquely. "No, no, no, _none_ of this is happening - "

"Not to mention that you're the best at magic," Daphne continued loudly, speaking over him. "So if the two of us go - "

"And me," Cormac interjected brusquely.

" - we should be fine," Daphne finished smoothly. "We'll plan the whole thing out, of course, in detail," she added quickly, smiling reassuringly, "but if you're in - "

"NO," Draco shouted, rising to his feet. "This isn't happening - "

"Yell louder, Malfoy, it's not working," Harry said gleefully.

"I'm in," Hermione agreed instantly, and Draco fell back in his chair, slamming his forehead into the wood of the dining table.

"Perfect," Harry said brightly. "I'm obviously coming too - "

"No," Hermione and Pansy said sharply in unison; they locked eyes across the table, both frowning as Hermione gestured for her to speak first.

"No," Pansy explained slowly, "because you're a menace, Potter, and you clearly have a death wish of some kind, and you'll only put everyone in more danger than they need." Her eyes flicked pointedly to Daphne at that; _she's worried,_ Hermione realized, and marveled again that a person she'd hated so much could somehow start to make so much sense.

"I'm not going to just sit at home," Harry argued roughly, leaning over the table to glare at Pansy. "Even if this _is_ the Order headquarters - "

"Which it isn't," Draco muttered, his voice muffled into the wood.

" - I should be there with you," Harry continued. " _I_ should be the one to go, so that people will talk about the Order being back!"

"Despite the fact that it _isn't_ ," Draco insisted, and Hermione patted the top of his head absently, listening intently to the conversation.

"People _won't talk,_ Potter," Pansy argued. "You can't seem to grasp that the Dark Lord doesn't _let_ them talk!"

"He controls the press," Daphne added, leaning towards Harry. "Even if we pulled off a miraculous rescue and you unveiled yourself and everything went perfectly, he would never allow that to get out."

"But - " Harry stammered, turning startlingly crimson. "But - but _that's_ \- "

"Tyranny?" Pansy supplied drily. "Despotism?"

"BULLSHIT," Harry exploded alternatively, launching to his feet. Hermione leaned towards him, opening her mouth to speak, but Theo beat her to it; he coughed once, nudging Harry.

"Potter," Theo said gruffly. "Sit the fuck down."

Miraculously, Harry listened; there was a breath of tension - a slack-jawed indication of conflict - but then he grimaced, slowly lowering himself back to his seat.

"You're not actually helpful to this situation," Theo reminded him sharply, and Harry opened his mouth to argue but Theo cut him off with a shake of his head. "Unlike the others, _you_ are not an asset. Daphne knows the house," Theo said, gesturing to her, "Granger knows fucking everything, and McLaggen - " he paused, waving a hand flippantly in Cormac's direction. "McLaggen's basically expendable."

"Hey," Cormac muttered indignantly but Theo held up a hand, silencing him.

"You're better off here, Potter," Theo said firmly, holding Harry's gaze. "Obviously Draco and I aren't huge fans of this plan either - "

"Understatement," Draco groaned. " _Heinous_ understatement - "

" - but you have to fucking _grasp the concept_ ," Theo continued loudly, "that once in a while, you're worth more sitting on your ass than you are running around throwing your life away." He leaned over, taking hold of Harry's shoulder and shifting him to meet his eye. "Now," Theo said, his voice clipped. "Are we fucking _clear_ , Potter?"

Hermione held her breath, watching Harry's eyes spark dangerously.

"Fuck off, Nott," he muttered, but his posture slowly relaxed. Theo nodded once, satisfied, before releasing him, turning back to Draco.

"And as for _you_ ," Theo began, but Draco silenced him with a tiny shake of his head. Hermione frowned, curious, but Daphne suddenly looked up, appearing to remember something.

"You know, they definitely won't print anything about it here," Daphne said slowly, "but there _is_ a newspaper that might print it."

Pansy cocked her head, catching the reference. "Do you mean that Scandinavian one?"

Daphne's hazel eyes brightened, encouraged. "Yes," she said. "I saw one once - Rabastan claimed it was full of conspiracy theories, but I remember it had a phoenix on it - "

"Darian was sent to shut it down," Pansy erupted, rising suddenly to her feet. "He couldn't find it, though - he couldn't trace it to anything - "

"Scandinavian?" Draco asked, jerking his head up suddenly. Hermione glanced at him, startled.

"Yes," Pansy confirmed. "It was being distributed from somewhere unplottable," she said, straining to remember. "Somewhere that Darian thought might have been - "

"Durmstrang," Theo interjected with a sharp inhale, meeting Draco's eye. "Do you think it could be - "

"Well it could, couldn't it?" Draco agreed, angling himself towards Theo. "I was _so sure_ it meant something - "

"The maps," Hermione realized, suddenly recalling what Draco and Theo had been doing and letting out a revelatory gasp. "France and Scandinavia - you were trying to plot _Beauxbatons and Durmstrang -_ "

"Because of the portkeys," Draco said quickly. "The ones in - "

" _Hogwarts: A History_ ," Hermione half-squealed, the title flooding back in a rush of euphoric memory. "The portkeys to the other schools!"

"What the fuck," Harry interrupted, "is happening right now?"

"Nerd stuff," Cormac supplied flatly, and Theo rolled his eyes, turning to Harry.

"There's a theory that since the castle is sentient, Hogwarts might sometimes provide passage to Durmstrang and Beauxbatons in times of need," Theo explained. "No proof, obviously," he muttered to himself, "as it never fucking showed up while _we_ were there - "

"You think someone could have gotten to Hogwarts, taken a portkey to Durmstrang, and started a Scandinavian newspaper in support of the Order of the Phoenix?" Harry interrupted, frowning. "That doesn't strike you as a long shot?"

"It doesn't strike _you_ as a long shot that some of the most notorious Order members were never caught?" Theo countered. "You remember what that castle was like, Potter, it had a mind of its own - "

"It's a magic castle," Hermione said, and suddenly started laughing, remembering what she'd said to Draco just that morning; _I cross back and forth between a line of what can exist, and what I've seen_. "It's possible, Harry," she said, letting her head fall back against the dining room chair. "We so easily forget what this world can do, don't we?"

"But how?" Harry pressed, staring helplessly. "How would an Order member have gotten to Hogwarts and not gotten caught?"

"There were some disappearances around there," Cormac offered slowly. "We always suspected someone who worked at Hogwarts might have been hiding things, or even people, but when they never came out - "

Hermione floundered, answerless, but across the table Pansy and Draco exchanged a glance.

"Blaise," they muttered knowingly, and Theo burst out laughing.

* * *

"He's a smuggler," Pansy explained. "I've seen him bring things into Hogsmeade before, but I always turned a blind eye because - " She trailed off, shrugging. "Frankly, I don't care."

"He's not even gay, is he?" Theo asked, laughing uproariously. "Fuck, I knew he was hiding something, but I thought _that_ was his secret - that he was fucking _Warrington_ \- "

"I mean, he might be," Pansy permitted, shrugging. "But more relevantly, he's a smuggler."

"We should have known," Draco said, shaking his head as he glanced up at Theo, recalling the scars and the bitterness. "He was so miserable, and _angry -_ "

"He was passed over for a Mark," Theo agreed. "And he never would have cut it as a Snatcher, so - "

"Is he an ally?" Hermione asked, glancing at Draco. "Could we trust him if we needed to?"

"We might have to," Draco said slowly, though he hoped she wouldn't notice how difficult it was to meet her eye. Across the table, he knew Theo felt his apprehension; _we need a body,_ he heard, _and you need to be the one to aim the wand -_

"He might be the best way to find the other Order members," Draco said, shaking himself of the thought. "But to see him," he realized suddenly, "we'd have to get into the castle - "

"Paul," Pansy yelled sharply. "Go find a copy of the newspaper. The Scandinavian one Darian was trying to shut down."

"Yes, Mistress," Paul squeaked quickly, disapparating with a crack.

"In the meantime," Pansy said slowly, "if we want to go, I can take us into Hogsmeade." She glanced up, seeking Cormac's attention. "Right?"

He paused, frowning, as he considered the question. "Technically, yes," he slowly agreed. "You own properties there and you're not flagged, so you can come and go. And only your wand will trigger the apparation tracking," he added, "so as long as Nott and Malfoy aren't seen, there's no reason they'd trigger anything of note on the map, and I can temporarily mark them as unsuspicious."

"I'm so glad we didn't kill you," Pansy mused sweetly, and Cormac shrugged as Theo chuckled.

"Foiled by bureaucracy," Theo murmured, drumming his fingers on the table. "I fucking _love_ that."

"But we'd still have to get into the castle," Draco reminded them, and Potter suddenly sat up, a reckless grin spreading across his face.

" _Now_ I'm an asset," he said gleefully, catching Hermione's eye. "I have the _map_."

"The map!" Hermione agreed, nodding enthusiastically before turning to Draco, her cheeks flushed with excitement. "Harry has a map, too," she explained. "It shows the location of everyone in the castle in real time, and entrances to get in undetected - "

"Of course he fucking has a magical map," Theo groaned. "Because heaven forbid Potter be forced to gallivant around _without_ being unfairly resourced - "

"Harry, you can go to Hogwarts with Draco, Theo, and Pansy," Hermione said quickly. "And Daphne, Cormac and I can go bring Ginny home - "

"Wait," Draco said, sensing the momentum shift and determining he didn't quite enjoy the feeling. "Wait, I still haven't - I still don't think - "

"We've gotten into the Lestrange Estate before," Hermione said, turning to Daphne. "Were the wards changed since then?"

"Yes and no," Daphne said, leaning towards her across the table. "They were changed, yes, but however you were able to do it before would still work - provided you don't trip an additional security ward," she conceded. "But I know where and what it is, and I can disarm it - "

"Okay," Draco interrupted. "Wait - _hold on_ \- "

He felt a tap on his shoulder and realized that Theo had stood from the table, appearing silently behind him. "Come on," Theo murmured, gesturing into the hall, and Draco nodded, rising surreptitiously to his feet. He watched Pansy's eyes narrow curiously, following them into the corridor.

"Look," Draco said as soon as they were alone. "I don't see why things are moving so quickly here. Even if Blaise _is_ a smuggler, which we don't know for sure - "

"Draco," Theo warned firmly, gripping his shoulder. "Listen, I get it, but I'm not sure this is something you can derail - "

" - that doesn't mean he's going to help us," Draco continued, "and Potter's just an explosion waiting to happen - "

" - I know you're nervous, I know it's a lot to take in at once, but you had to have known it would eventually come to this - "

" - and how do we even know we can _trust_ Cormac - "

"We can," Pansy interrupted, appearing beside them in the hallway and crossing her arms over her chest. "We can add precautions if you want," she said, shrugging, "Unbreakable Vow or whatever, but I promise you that we can trust him."

"And how do you know that?" Draco demanded. "How can you _possibly_ \- "

"He's in love with Weasley," Pansy informed him flatly. "He wants her safe, and he won't stop. He won't betray us." She shook her head. "Trust me. He won't chance anything - not with her on the line."

Draco grimaced. "Okay," he drawled irreverently, " _sure_ , but - "

"If it were you," Theo cut in quietly. "If it were Granger." He paused, his green eyes settling tellingly on Draco's. "Surely you can grasp the concept."

 _You make me forget what I am,_ Draco remembered; his mouth tightened, feeling the weight of the sentiment settle into the base of his chest.

Pansy's dark brows arched as she glanced up at Theo. "It's that serious, huh?"

Theo's mouth twitched. "Seems that way," he murmured, and Draco forced a swallow.

"Pansy," he said, turning to her. "I need your help with something."

A smirk toyed with her lips. "Careful, Draco," she taunted. "I'm not in the business of - "

"Not that," he snapped quickly, and looked back at Theo. "Pansy, we - " he hesitated. "We need a body."

Theo's jaw tightened, and Pansy's brow furrowed. "What?"

"We need to kill an Order member," Theo explained, dropping his voice to a barely audible mutter. "Nobody here," he said quickly, his gaze darting around quickly. "But - someone."

She paused, chewing her lip. "Who?"

"We don't know," Draco said listlessly. "But the Dark Lord is going to expect me to prove myself, and if we ever want to get unflagged - "

Pansy exhaled slowly. "I see why you came to me for this," she murmured. "This is going to be really fucked up, isn't it?"

"Can't tell Granger," Theo warned in answer. " _Or_ Potter."

"And by the looks of it, not Daphne either," Draco added.

Pansy grimaced. "I definitely see why you came to me," she sighed.

* * *

"I need a drink," Cormac muttered, rubbing his temple. "I feel prickly."

"And you'd rather be what, then?" Daphne asked him, giving his shoulder a nudge. "Numb?"

Cormac gave her a sharply impatient glare. "Yes," he replied. " _Obviously_."

Daphne lifted an eyebrow, glancing at Hermione before turning to walk out of the dining room, joining the others who had traipsed upstairs. Pansy had insisted on cleaning out some of the rooms - "Daphne needs one," she'd said, " _and_ Potter," she added as an afterthought, "though obviously that matters less" - and so they'd been interrupted from their plotting of the Lestrange break-in to delve into the bedrooms that remained in the Black townhouse, most of which had been behind closed doors that Hermione had never thought to question.

But there were still a few things downstairs that Hermione wasn't quite satisfied not knowing, and so she'd lagged behind for a bit; she paused, watching Cormac frown disappointingly at his cup of coffee before clearing her throat.

"Cormac," she said slowly, "what happened?"

He gave her a withering glance. "Shit," he answered, and shrugged. "What else?"

Hermione leaned back against her chair, not quite ready to abandon the topic. "You're a Snatcher," she began, and Cormac made a disgruntled sound of opposition.

"I wasn't in the Order, okay?" he said brusquely. "I know where you're going with this, but I really didn't have much of a choice. I wasn't in the Order, and I wasn't going to be a Death Eater, either, so I just did the one thing I knew was available that would keep me safe. Or something close to safe." He curled a hand around his mouth. "If I had known that I would - "

He stopped. "I might have done things differently," he said carefully, "but it's too late now."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully, not taking her eyes from his. "So - Ginny," she ventured tentatively, and Cormac's expression contorted; first in pain, she thought, and then in consummate displeasure.

"I met her my first year as a Snatcher," he said. "I mean, I knew her," he corrected himself. "Slug Club and all that - "

"I remember," Hermione murmured.

" - but she was alone that year," he explained. "The year Snape was headmaster, and when Potter had left her behind, and - "

His grimace tightened.

"Harry didn't leave her behind," Hermione offered carefully. "It wasn't like that - "

"It was _exactly_ that, Granger," Cormac interrupted. "He left her, and she _suffered_ , and she was lonely and I was - I'd made a mistake," he said. "Being a Snatcher, I'd - I hadn't realized what that would mean - what I'd have to _do_ , and I - "

He faltered, stammering to a pause.

"She helped you," Hermione supplied, and he nodded. "You two had something?"

Cormac glanced miserably at his coffee and then set it aside. "Not right away," he admitted. "Not until the next year, when Potter was supposedly dead and _he_ had won and everything was shit, and - " He reached up, scraping his fingers through his now-tousled hair. "I loved her," he said fiercely, "and I don't know what she thought she was in danger from, but obviously she wasn't wrong - "

They stumbled into silence again, and Hermione reached out, placing a hand on his arm.

"Cormac," she said slowly, but she was promptly interrupted by Harry's face appearing in the doorway.

"Hermione," he said, peeking in. "You coming?"

She glanced over at Cormac, but the moment was clearly over; he'd turned away, promptly rising to his feet and strutting out of the room.

"Yeah," she said, shaking herself of the conversation. "I'm - I'm coming."

Harry reached a hand out, grinning, and pulled her behind him up the stairs. "Finally decide to tell McLaggen about the _Confundus_ incident?" he murmured teasingly, and Hermione felt her cheeks flush.

"Shut up," she hissed under her breath, and Harry laughed, dragging her in through the doorframe of a room at the end of the hall.

It seemed Draco had been using the rooms for storage; Hermione glanced around, taking in the clutter before sighing, approaching a pile of questionable looking items that sat below an elaborate gilded mirror that covered the majority of the far wall.

"Well, this is fun," Pansy said, wrinkling her nose as she picked up a leather bound book that glowed unpleasantly with an eerie green tint. "Good thing I sent my house elf away," she added sarcastically, "so that I could _personally_ garner the joys of manual labor."

"Don't complain," Draco warned, straightening from a corner of the room. "If you start, I won't stop."

"Where's Smith?" Harry asked, looking around. "Is he still sleeping in the study?"

"Well, _yes_ , Potter, seeing as I haven't woken him, he is," Pansy snapped. "Besides, seeing as he has no memory of how to do _anything_ , it's not like he's usefu- "

The words died on her tongue, something abruptly sparking in her dark eyes.

"Yes?" Harry prompted impatiently, but Pansy shook herself of the thought, seeming to have resigned herself to something unknowable.

"Never mind," she said briskly. "The point is _yes,_ Smith is still sleeping, and he's going to stay asleep until I figure out what to do with him." She looked over, meeting Draco's eye; Hermione watched curiously through the mirror's reflection as he frowned in response, questioning. Pansy shook her head - _later,_ she mouthed - and Hermione bit her lip, wondering what had occurred to her.

"What's this?" Harry asked, picking up an ornate titanium-looking dagger that was sheathed in a black scabbard.

"Something cursed as fuck, Potter," Theo called over unhelpfully, sifting through a pile in the opposite corner of the room. "Probably not worth finding out."

"It doesn't feel cursed," Harry said, frowning. He slid the blade out, eyeing it. "It says something on the hilt."

"What is it?" Hermione asked, taking the few steps to join him. Harry pointed wordlessly to the lettering; it was a single scripted word: _vitae._ "Life," Hermione murmured in translation, and Draco made a loud sound of opposition from across the room.

"Careful with that," he warned, his grey eyes flashing. "That's - don't fuck with that, Potter. Don't touch the blade."

"Why not?" Harry asked stubbornly, glancing up in defiance. "Scared, Malfoy?"

"For fuck's sake," Draco sighed, glaring at him. "It's just not a normal knife, okay?"

"Cursed as fuck, Potter," Theo reminded him, smirking, and Harry made a face.

"I told you," he argued, "it doesn't _feel_ cursed - "

"It's not _cursed_ ," Draco interrupted, shaking his head. "Not exactly." He looked slightly ashen at the thought. "That knife doesn't, uh - " he paused, raking a hand through his hair, and Hermione stared curiously, wondering what had gotten him so bothered.

"If it cuts you, you won't bleed _blood,_ " Draco explained slowly. "You bleed life."

Hermione frowned. "Life?"

"Yeah," Draco said uncomfortably. "Like, _time,_ I guess, more specifically. _Years_ of your life," he explained. "My mother told me once how one of her sisters cut the other one with it - "

"Ten galleons says it was Bellatrix," Harry muttered in her ear.

" - and it just - " Draco shuddered. "The point is, it takes time off your life."

"That's incredible," Hermione said slowly. "And _incredibly_ disturbing."

"Most of this stuff is," Draco agreed, picking up a rather innocent looking throw pillow between two fingers and tossing it into a box. "I wouldn't touch anything, personally."

"Right," Harry agreed quietly, though Hermione frowned, watching him slip the knife in his pocket. "And whose room is this, again?"

"You can take this one," Draco said. "Daphne can have the one down the hall, and I guess you and Cormac can, I don't know, share - "

"Won't have to," Cormac said, waltzing in through the frame. "There's another bedroom at the end of the hall."

"Are you serious?" Draco asked, straightening. "The house is - " He let out a loud growl, his cheeks colored with a somewhat charming flush of irritation. "I can't believe the fucking _house_ is turning on me - "

"You let us in," Harry sang, and Hermione stifled a laugh, watching Draco flash him another impatient glare.

"Potter, I sincerely hope my house swallows you," he retorted. Hermione smiled to herself, shaking her head, before looking up to catch Theo's reflection as he stepped within the lens of the mirror, giving Draco's shoulder a nudge.

"You're fucking _foretold_ ," Theo murmured, smirking. "Can't be too surprised that your house is in on it too."

"I don't care," Draco muttered back. "And stop divining, you shit."

Theo laughed, and Hermione paused briefly, watching him in the glass; the motion in his green eyes settled after a moment, and when it had gone - the chuckle settling to a placid smile - all that remained was something markedly indefinable. Something bare, and consummately so.

Theo seemed to feel her eyes on him and he looked up, catching her gaze in the mirror; Hermione, startled, meant to look away, but found she couldn't. There was something strangely familiar in Theo's gaze; something she recognized, she thought, in the way his eyes transitioned from Draco's to hers. A sense of loss, she realized, like moving from something warm to something cold; from promise to reality. An expression of _something_ \- something she couldn't quite name -

"You know that look," Luna said in her ear, her fingers traveling lightly up Hermione's arm. "Don't you?"

 _No, I don't,_ Hermione thought silently, hoping Theo hadn't caught the unwilling twitch in her shoulders as he turned back to packing the box of books. _How would I know it?_

"Look closer," Luna suggested, smiling coquettishly as she nudged Hermione back towards the mirror. "Closer to home, perhaps?"

Hermione's gaze flicked unwillingly to her reflection, despite her irritation with Luna's coy urging; curiosity, it seemed, had gotten the better of her, and she studied the view of the room from the looking glass. Her best friend, her formal rival; a room of tentative camaraderie, and unsteady alliances.

A motion from Draco caught her attention and Hermione glanced at him; _a boy so steeped in sun_ , she thought, watching the glint of him, the refractions and gleams that came from him; the reluctant hero, she thought, savoring the words. The day boy, made to fit within her little chasms, to fill her up with light.

She felt her lips twitch up in a smile but tore her gaze away from Draco as she remembered what had been at hand, dragging her attention back towards the mirror. _There's nothing,_ she thought with a sigh. _I told you I didn't know it,_ she processed adamantly, but to her unexpected disappointment, she found Luna was gone.

Hermione's gaze slid back to her own reflection, catching something that had lit in her own brown eyes. And then - like a crash, like a wave, like a flood - it hit her, and she _realized_ _-_

That look had a name. _If you lose, I lose._

 _I never needed anything,_ she heard in her ear, _because I always had him._

She had recognized the look in Theo's eyes because _she_ had looked at Draco the same way.

* * *

"I have an idea," Pansy had murmured to him, but then Hermione was approaching and she quickly stepped away, ducking her head. Draco, who had learned long ago that Pansy's aid was highly dependent on circumstances going her way, had simply nodded, turning to take Hermione's hand in his.

"Can I talk to you?" she asked. "Before we start on the next room?"

He bent down, brushing his lips against her cheek. "Of course," he murmured, pulling her into his bedroom. She waited, letting the door shut behind them, before shifting uncomfortably.

"Remember when I said I needed to tell you about Tom Riddle?" she asked, and he nodded. "It sort of has to do with Ginny," she began, "so I figured I should tell you everything."

He nodded again, slower this time. "What does it have to do with Weasley?" he asked. "Who is he?"

Hermione hesitated. "Well," she started to say, and stopped, closing her mouth again; wavering in uncertainty. Draco smiled, taking her hand and pulling her beside him on the bed, settling her at his side.

"Once upon a time," he began, nudging her to continue. She turned, her lips tilting up in a smile.

"Once upon a time, there was a very powerful wizard," she said slowly. "A selfish one, too, who protected his mortality by severing his soul, ensuring that he could never die. The wizard, who called himself the Deathless, set out one day to kidnap a queen, determining that with her as his prisoner, he could rule for eternity, never to be defeated."

"The queen had a son," she continued, "a prince who set out to rescue her, despite knowing that the journey had been undertaken and failed by many others, costing countless lives. The prince was certain that despite the danger, for love of his mother he would manage to save her, and so he made his way to the castle where she was kept."

"When the prince spoke to his mother, he learned that she, who was clever herself, had managed to trick her kidnapper into admitting the secret of his immortality: that the Deathless wizard had hidden his soul away from his body, but that it could still be found. _Know that my life is in an egg,_ he told her, _and the egg is in a duck, and the duck is in a hare, and the hare nests in a great hollow log that floats in a pond, in a forest of an unreachable island._ The queen conveyed this to her son, willing him to find the Deathless wizard's soul in order to make him mortal, and thus defeat him."

She paused, biting her lip, and then her golden brown eyes settled on his, drawing him back to the present. "Do you know what a horcrux is, Draco?"

He made a face, managing to tear himself from the fabric of her story. "This house is full of cursed things, Granger," he said quickly, clearing his throat. "I'm familiar with the concept."

"It's a container for a soul," she explained, and raised a brow, waiting for his recognition. "Making someone _immortal_ ," she clarified pointedly, and Draco felt his eyes widen, suddenly making the connection between the story she'd chosen to tell.

"The Dark Lord," he realized. "He has a horcrux?"

Hermione grimaced at that. "He _had_ six of them," she said, and corrected herself. "Seven. Harry was one," she explained. "But now there's only one left."

Draco gaped at her. "Potter was - " he paused, the thought drifting into nothing and then simmering to a new burst of fear. "Are you saying he can't be killed?"

Hermione reached forward, taking his face in her palms. "He _can,_ " she said. "He _can_ be killed, it just - it'll take a few extra steps."

He frowned, not sure what to do with this information, before suddenly remembering what she'd brought him in private to say. "Wait," Draco said hastily. "So who's Tom Riddle," he said with confusion, "and what does this have to do with Ginny Weasley?"

Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but was cut off as Potter burst unceremoniously through the door with Paul and Pansy behind him, waiting expectantly in the doorway.

"Hermione, it's her," Potter said hoarsely, his face starkly pale. He held a newspaper in his hand; Draco squinted at it, recognizing the image of the phoenix that was blended into the scripted title _The Crier._ "I'd know her voice anywhere, Hermione, and this is her, I _know_ it - "

Hermione leapt forward, taking the paper from his hand. She glanced over it quickly, her eyes widening before looking up to meet Potter's tentative glance.

"What is it?" Draco demanded, looking impatiently between them. "Who?"

"It's Luna," Hermione said quietly, reaching out to grip the tips of Potter's fingers as the confirmation settled itself in his expression, tightening along his jaw.

"We have to talk to Zabini," Potter rasped determinedly, and Hermione nodded, seeking Draco's gaze with a moment of muted pleading.

"Fine," Draco sighed, throwing himself back on the bed and covering his face with both hands. "Let's go have a visit with Blaise," he muttered, dreading the thought the moment it entered.

* * *

 **a/n:** Story inspiration from _Tsarevitch Petr and the Wizard_ , which is one of the Russian fairytales involving Koschei the Deathless. This chapter was mostly explanatory dialogue, but Big Things are ahead, I promise. Dedicated to meowlzy! Thank you to everyone for reading.


	25. The Fealty of Beasts

**Chapter 25: The Fealty of Beasts**

* * *

 _ **Yesterday**_

* * *

"You haven't told him," Theo commented gruffly over her shoulder, and Hermione promptly dropped the vial she'd been holding, barely managing to grasp it between two fingers before it shattered on the ground.

"I - what?" she stammered, slowly recovering from the surprise of his appearance. She found, despite her best efforts, that she couldn't quite manage to meet his eye, busying herself with the vials and books she'd set out on the counter. "Haven't told him what?"

Theo tilted his head, noting her avoidance, but pressed on. "You're still hearing voices," he remarked, and at her reflexive grimace, he frowned. "Don't deny it," he warned. "I'm not up for playing dumb today."

"I'm not denying it," she insisted. "I'm just - " she waved a hand, gesturing to the counter. "I'm busy."

"You certainly are," Luna agreed, leaning over her shoulder, and Hermione flinched, shaking her away.

"There," Theo pointed out, frowning. "You just - " he mimicked her motion, making a face. "Is it still Ginny?"

"Oh, it's _Ginny_ now, is it?" Hermione prompted crossly, not wanting to address the actual question. "Not Weaslette?" she mused. "Or She-Weasel, or - "

Theo cut her off, waving a hand. "You and Daphne are risking your lives to go get her," he reminded her. "I think I can at least manage the burdensome effort of calling her by her name."

"Well, that's nice," Luna contributed chirpily, and Hermione sighed, thoroughly irked by both of them.

"What is it you want?" she demanded, and Theo smirked.

"Me?" he asked impishly. "Or should I leave you to the private conversation with the phantom in your mind?"

"I know what _she_ wants," Hermione muttered. "To drive me insane, as always."

"Not true," Luna remarked brightly, perching on the counter and swinging her legs. "I'm just keeping things in perspective."

"What I _don't_ know," Hermione continued, ignoring her, "is why you're here, Theo."

He shrugged. "Draco said you were working on blood wards," he supplied. "Figured I should help."

"Why?" Hermione sniffed. "You think I can't do it?"

Theo bristled. "What I thought is that you might need some _blood_ ," he informed her, pointedly holding out his wrist; the unmarked one, she noted, but she still felt herself bristle at the subtle implication. "Or were you thinking of trying something entirely different to get through the wards this time?"

"You mean that you thought I needed some _pure_ blood?" Hermione prompted, suffering a rush of annoyance. "Did you come here to remind me that you're better than me or something?"

"No," Theo snapped, looking startlingly offended by the accusation. "I came here, Granger, because I'm a closer relative to the Lestrange bloodline than Daphne, Draco, _and_ Pansy, and considering that you need to mimic _Lestrange blood,_ I thought I should be the one to help. But if that doesn't seem logical to you," he growled, "then fucking - _fine,_ then _-_ "

"I'm sorry," Hermione cut in hastily, reaching out to prevent him from leaving. "Theo, I'm just - I'm stressed," she lied, shaking her head. "I haven't done this in a while, and I'm just - I'm sorry," she repeated, releasing his arm. "Okay?"

He looked more than a little bit irritated, but forced a nod. "Fine," he muttered, and leaned against the counter a second time. "You know fucking well that I don't give a shit about your blood, by the way," he pointed out, and she nodded regretfully, feeling a twinge of shame.

"I know," she agreed. "I guess I just - " she grimaced. "There's just something about doing this that makes me really uncomfortable."

"What, handling blood isn't one of your preferred indulgences?" Theo joked. "Astounding. And here I thought you'd find it sublime."

"You know," Luna interrupted spiritedly, "if you told him what you know, I bet he'd underst- "

"So, anyway," Hermione interrupted loudly. "Yes, Theo, if you're offering, I could use some of your blood. Draco gave me this," she added, holding up a book of Sacred Twenty-Eight genealogy, "but I haven't checked it yet, so - "

"My mother was a Fawley," Theo told her. "Her mother was a Lestrange."

"Ah," Hermione permitted. "So, you and Rodolphus are - "

"Cousins of some kind," Theo confirmed, shrugging. "Never really thought it relevant until now." He paused, watching her set up the series of vials. "How exactly do you do this?" he asked, gesturing to the open page of an old potions textbook. "What are these incantations for?"

"Well, it's essentially muggle science," Hermione said, "though it would take far too long to do without machines, I'm sure, not to mention a highly advanced proficiency in both chemistry and hematology - "

"I don't know what any of that means," Theo cut in flippantly, "but continue."

"Essentially," Hermione began, taking Theo's hand and holding her wand to his palm, murmuring a slicing spell and then letting the subsequent trickle of blood drip into the cauldron she'd dug up from Draco's potion stores, "I use severing incantations to separate the elements in the blood, and then I use them to form a mimicry of someone else's chemical makeup. In this case, I can make a mixture of Rodolphus Lestrange's blood by, um - " she paused, trying to figure out how to describe it. "Pulling strands, basically. Think of your blood like a series of intertwined threads," she clarified, and Theo nodded. "I use a severing charm to pull out the threads that you and anyone else in the house might share with Rodolphus, and then I fill in the blanks with whatever other threads I can find."

"Sounds," Theo began, and paused, frowning. "Imprecise."

"It is," Hermione agreed crisply, healing the cut on his palm and then turning back to the sample he'd provided. "But blood wards are ancient magic, really. Not unlike the other things we've handled today," she added, waving a hand to reference upstairs. "But the point is, it's not that difficult to fool a blood ward - particularly when most purebloods already share so many common threads."

"Ah," Theo said. "And you figured this out _how_ , exactly?"

"Well, as you've mentioned, I'm a genius," Hermione reminded him, and he smirked, rolling his eyes. "Though I'm beginning to wonder if Luna hadn't actually been the one to sneakily plant the idea in my brain," she muttered under her breath, glancing at the counter.

"Aw," Luna said cheerfully. "You're sweet."

"Luna?" Theo echoed, watching Hermione's gaze flick to where the blonde was sitting. "Are you talking to Lovegood now?"

Hermione hesitated, and then sighed deeply, setting the vials back on the counter. "She won't go away," she admitted, finally permitting her frustration to show. "I can't seem to get rid of her," she confessed, "ever since I saw - "

She stopped. Theo arched a brow.

"Yes?" he prompted, and Hermione forced a smile.

"Nothing," she lied. "But she's been popping up since yesterday."

"Huh," Theo said, looking thoughtful. "You said these visions of other people that you have," he mused, eyeing her. "They each represent something different?"

"I think so," Hermione told him. "Harry kept me alive," she explained slowly. "Ginny shows up to give me hope, or encouragement. Bill is cynicism, mostly," she sighed, rolling her eyes, "and then Luna is - " she grimaced, and Theo gestured expectantly, waiting. "She tells me things I don't want to hear."

"True things?" he prompted, and Hermione hesitated.

"She's _supposed_ to be my truth, yes," she permitted, thinking of what Luna had forced her to see in Theo. "But I don't know if that necessarily means that everything she says is true."

Theo scoffed. "Astonishing that you would need someone to _provide_ you cynicism," he remarked drily, and Hermione made a face.

"I'm just saying that she was a master of doublespeak when she was around in real life, and she's no different in my subconscious - or whatever this is," she clarified, gesturing to her temple. "She has a knack for being right, sure, but I'm not about to run around calling her some sort of seer."

"Nor should you," Theo agreed. "But as a reminder, _she's_ not here. Whatever you're seeing," he commented pointedly, reaching out to tap the center of Hermione's forehead, "it's _you_."

"You don't know that," she reminded him grimly. "Hearing voices is - "

Theo waved a hand, cutting her off. "Yeah, yeah, for a normal person, it's a problem," he said, as though that were not a consummately worrisome remark. "For you, though, it means something. What's she saying?"

"Uh," Hermione said uneasily, glancing at Luna's eagerly blinking eyes, "nothing, really. Just, making comments here and there." She paused. "She did say that she thinks Pansy is trying to take care of me."

" _You_ think that," Theo corrected her. "It's _your_ brain - "

"I'm sure you're right," Hermione pressed, "but still. Can we just pretend, as a fun game," she suggested with a sigh, "that I'm _not_ entirely insane, and agree to act like it's possible that Luna is - I don't know, visiting me through some kind of advanced magical hallucination?"

"You're not insane," Theo reminded her. "But doesn't it strike you as _interesting_ , at least, that the person who is supposed to represent honesty in your life appears to you while you're keeping a secret from Draco?"

"What's your point?" Hermione asked, frowning. "Are you suggesting that if I tell him I hear voices, Luna will just - " she grimaced. "Go away?"

Theo shrugged. "I don't know," he said flatly. "I'm just trying to connect the dots, since you clearly don't wish to do it yourself."

She groaned, dreading a lecture. She considered, then, that perhaps that had been what it was like for Harry and Ron to be friends with _her_ , and she silently thanked them for their many years of allegiance despite her nosy condescension.

"What's your insistence on me telling Draco?" she asked Theo, making a face. "Why is it so important to you that I tell him about this?"

"Because you're fucking _hearing voices,_ Granger," Theo growled back, glowering at her. "Just because I don't think you're crazy doesn't mean I think it's _normal_ , and I'm not exactly thrilled about keeping it from my best friend, either - "

"You know, you keep reminding me that he's your best friend," Hermione cut in carefully. "There's no reason for you to keep this from him," she added, testing his limits, "unless, of course, there's something of your own that you're not telling him."

"Like what?" Theo demanded. "Are you wanting to accuse me of something, Granger? Because if you're going to question my loyalty to him - "

"I'm not," she said quickly. "I wouldn't," she insisted, "but - "

"Good," Theo snapped, turning his back on her and throwing the word bitterly over his shoulder as he turned to leave. "Don't."

"Theo," she blurted after him, fighting a groan of disappointment with her own blundering insensitivity. "Theo, I - I know, okay?" He paused then, skidding to a stop, and she let out a burdened sigh. "I just - I know, Theo."

She watched his shoulders tense, the line of his spine slowly going rigid as he processed what she'd said.

"Know _what_?" he snarled unexpectedly, whipping around to face her. "What is it you _know,_ Granger, because from where I stand, you can't fucking know anything. _Anything._ " He stopped, breathing hard. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Theo, I understand you perfectly," Hermione retorted, taking a step towards him. "In fact, I'm pretty sure I'm the _only_ person who can understand, so don't just - "

"We are not the _same_ , Granger!" Theo shouted, his eyes flashing as he stared at her. "Whatever you feel and whatever you think I might - whatever I - " he stumbled to a halt, shaking his head as his color rose in his cheeks. "We're not the same," he told her bluntly. "Don't pretend you know how I feel, okay? Don't fucking _pretend,_ Hermione, because you can't possibly understand."

He turned around again, heading for the door, but then he stopped in the doorway, hesitating; Hermione stared silently at the degree of resignation in his posture and wondered what she could possibly say that wouldn't be met with _fuck off,_ or _you don't know me,_ or some other expected bite of his ill-humored wit.

"Just tell him," Luna whispered loudly, and Hermione sighed.

"Shut up," she muttered to Luna, and Theo turned slightly, startled. "Look," Hermione said, taking a step towards his back. "The first time I broke a blood ward, I made a vial of Draco's blood and broke into the vault at Malfoy Manor." She stopped, swallowing, and he didn't move. "I chose him on purpose."

Theo angled his chin over his shoulder; listening, but opting not to meet her eye. "Why?"

She grimaced, wishing she had an answer that had any logical merit.

"I've spent my life colliding with him," she offered tentatively. "Crashing into him against my will." She took another step, angling them so that if she'd chosen to reach out, she could have; but she stopped, holding her hands at her side. "Eventually you start to wonder if it's by design," she mused.

 _Inevitability,_ she heard, _and punishment -_

"So?" Theo asked gruffly. "What's your point?"

"So," she said slowly, "my point is that I know what it's like to circle him. To orbit him, and exist around him, and - " she held her breath, preparing herself to confess. "To want him," she clarified hoarsely, "but wish I didn't."

She watched Theo's chin drop, weighed down by a sudden understanding. They stood in silence for several moments, sharing the same dark places, before he took a slow, deep breath, clearing his lungs of the confession.

"I'll keep your secrets," Theo offered slowly, "if you keep mine."

She nodded, and he slipped away from the doorframe without pause.

* * *

 _ **Today**_

* * *

Cormac's apparation, guided by Daphne's instruction, took the three of them to the woods adjacent to the eastern corner of the Lestrange manor house, landing them just outside the aged stone wall of the estate. The wall itself was at least ten feet high and crumbling, worn by weather and centuries of decay, but Hermione could feel the pulsing of the protective enchantments, certain that behind the stone there was far more than met the eye.

Her hair, now dyed several shades darker courtesy of Pansy, fell distractingly into her eyes and she brushed it aside, taking a steadying breath as she turned expectantly to Daphne. It was Hermione's first time outside the walls of Draco's house for weeks, with several months before that since she'd last been out in the world; she found it strangely unnerving, though she imagined the air seemed crisper than she remembered, the smell of it twice as sweet.

"The blood will get us through most of the spellwork," Daphne offered, pressing her hand to the stone and looking up. "The only enchantment that was added was an extra barrier charm - the Dark Lord's design."

"What?" Cormac asked, frowning. "Barrier charm?"

"Think of it like inserting a key," Hermione explained. "Having the right blood puts the key in the lock, and the additional enchantment turns it."

"Right," Daphne confirmed, nodding. "Once we open the wards, though, any additional magic will be suspect, or could garner their attention - "

"So we'll have to find Ginny and get out without using any other spells," Hermione finished, and Daphne nodded again. "And you're sure that won't set anything off?" Hermione asked, gesturing to the monogrammed ring on Daphne's finger that they'd found amidst the items in Draco's house.

"The ring itself isn't cursed or anything," Daphne assured her. "I mean, it was probably used to poison someone in Draco's bloodline, I'm sure - "

"Definitely," Cormac agreed, making a face.

"But the ring itself doesn't have any blood enchantments, and the powdered Death-Cap that Pansy put inside it isn't going to trigger anything, so we're safe," Daphne said, and then grimaced. "Relatively speaking, that is."

"We've simplified it as much as we could have," Hermione reminded her. "Pansy said Mulciber, Lestrange, and You-Know-Who are all traveling. We just need to get in and get out with Ginny without attracting the attention of anyone else who might be there - "

" _Including_ Ginny," Daphne said emphatically, and turned to Cormac. "Don't try to talk to her," she warned. "She won't recognize you."

Cormac's expression hardened. "Right."

"Okay," Hermione said. "Ready?"

"You're sure this will work?" Cormac asked, eyeing the drying spatter of blood on his wrist and turning a tinge green. "You're positive this is enough to break into the _Dark Lord's_ house?"

"I'm sure it'll get us in," Hermione confirmed, battling her nerves. "It's getting out that I'm concerned about."

"Leave that to me," Daphne said firmly, stepping forward and pressing a hand to the stone, closing her eyes. She murmured a series of barely audible spells, shifting her fingers, and then there was a slight warp in the air around them; a vacancy large enough to slip through, and past it a darkly foreboding manor house that wavered in the distance. "Come on," Daphne urged, beckoning, and Hermione and Cormac followed her through the tear in the wards, setting foot in the startlingly bare gardens of the Lestrange Estate.

"What a lovely shithole," Cormac muttered, looking around at the yellowing decay. "Clearly his Lordship is quite the phenomenal topiarist."

"Shh," Hermione hissed, nudging past him to follow Daphne; the other witch had a surprisingly long stride for someone who wasn't much taller than she was. "How will we know where she is in the house?"

"Summoning spell?" Cormac suggested, and Daphne rolled her eyes.

"No magic," she reminded him briskly, flattening against the wall and waiting for the other two to do the same before checking through a small glass pane on an ornate wooden door. "Elves will be wandering the house," she warned, "and there are two ghosts, and the suits of armor are enchanted, too - "

"Great," Cormac muttered, rubbing his neck. "I already need a drink."

"Ginny likes windows, and heights," Hermione whispered. "She had a favorite spot in Gryffindor tower where she'd do her homework in the sun around this time of day."

"That's true," Cormac confirmed. "She told me once that's why she loves quidditch so much," he added. "Being closer to the sun makes her feel invincible."

Daphne hesitated, considering the insight. "She's not herself," she reminded them tentatively, but Hermione shrugged.

"She has to revert to _something_ when nobody's telling her what to do," she said. "I'm just saying that if there's somewhere up high - a room inside one of those turrets, or something - "

"The aviary," Daphne realized, her eyes widening. "Yes, there's one."

"That sounds right," Hermione agreed. "How do we get there?"

Daphne paused, thinking. "There's a small stairway from this side," she said. "It shifts, like the stairs at Hogwarts, so watch out." She checked the pane of the door again, looking around. "Nobody's around. Be careful," she warned, and then pulled the door open, padding softly across the faded ornamental rugs of what looked to be a drawing room and leading them towards a staircase.

Hermione blinked, feeling temporarily unsteady as they crept up to the base of the staircase. Beside it, there was a narrow door that she was sure she had seen in a glimmer of memory; a flickering image of a gloved hand on the iron handle.

"Daphne," she whispered, reaching for her arm. "What's in there?"

Daphne turned, blanching as she saw what had caught Hermione's attention. "Another staircase," she murmured back. "I've never used it. It goes - " she hesitated. "It goes down under the house. I think they're - "

"Dungeons," Hermione realized, forcing a swallow as she pictured the windowless room, the light in the corner, the lines on the floor, Draco's voice - _you've been in the old Lestrange manor house for six months_ -

"Don't think about it," Ginny whispered, tapping Hermione's shoulder and prompting her to jump in alarm. "You're busy, Hermione - remember?"

"Are you okay?" Cormac asked her, frowning, and Hermione tore her eyes away from the specter of Ginny beside her to look at him, nodding firmly.

"Yes," she said. "Sorry, I just - "

"You were kept there," Daphne realized, the color draining from her cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Hermione, I had no idea - "

"It's fine," Hermione assured her, gesturing up the stairs and forcing herself not to look back. "Let's just get Ginny and get out."

Daphne forced a nod, taking a deep breath and aiming herself up the stairs.

"I think it's nice that you know where to find me," Ginny commented, toying with her ponytail as she spoke to Hermione. "You're risking quite a lot, you know."

 _I'm aware,_ Hermione thought with an inward sigh. _Why didn't you tell me about Cormac?_

"Perhaps I had my reasons," Ginny remarked, tilting her face up with a smile as a stray beam of light came in through a narrow windowed panel along the curved stairs. "You were always more Harry's friend than mine, anyway."

 _I thought you were sad about Harry,_ Hermione thought, frowning. _Was it Cormac you were missing the whole time?_

"Better pay attention, Hermione," Ginny cautioned, smiling faintly. "You know it's never been easy to get me to follow directions," she murmured, and Hermione felt a chill.

"Hey," Daphne whispered, coming to an abrupt halt. "Assuming the house didn't shift while we were on the stairs - "

"It does that?" Cormac asked, making a face. "Holy hell."

" - it'll be the second door on the right," Daphne said, tilting her head to indicate the narrow passage. "I'll drop the ring as close to her as I can, and then - "

"I'll apparate us out," Cormac confirmed.

"To the exact same place we entered," Daphne cautioned. "I opened the wards, and I'll have to close them before we go."

"Right," Cormac confirmed, fidgeting. "Well, let's go g- "

"Wait," Hermione hissed, thrusting an arm out as something glinted in the corridor. "Did you see that?"

Daphne leaned in, checking. "It's Felix," she whispered. "One of the ghosts. He'll be gone in a second," she added. "He's just looking for Wynona."

"Who?" Cormac asked, and Daphne rolled her eyes.

"Long story," she said. "But better Felix than Wynona, I assure you - he just swoops around moping. _She_ actively tries to steal your soul."

"But ghosts can't do that," Hermione protested. "They're non-corporeal beings!"

"She's very persistent," Daphne sighed, "but it's not her fault. She was being haunted by evil spirits when she died." At Hermione's questioning glance, she shrugged. "Like I said. _Long_ story." She leaned in, checking again. "Okay, he's gone."

Daphne led them in a quick sprint to the second doorway, pausing with her ear to the door. "There's someone in there," she mouthed, and Hermione nodded, holding her wand out.

"I'll cover you," Hermione assured her, and Daphne raised a hand, silently counting to three on her fingers and then nodding once before pushing the door open.

The small turreted room was empty except for a single wooden cage in the center, which stretched from the ceiling to the floor and appeared to have once held a menagerie of birds. The cage was filled with one large, lifeless tree in the center and a variety of smaller flora that had long ago wilted to the floor, a mess of dead insects and vermin scattering the bottom of the enclosure.

Through the iron mesh they could see the window on the other side, the light streaming in to fall against a single, glowing obstacle: a young woman, her long plaited hair a shade of crimson so familiar it made Hermione's chest contract in pain.

At the sound of their entry, the vacant shell of the real Ginny Weasley whipped around to face them, her brown eyes blank as she registered their presence in the room and raised her wand without hesitation.

" _Avada Kedavra,_ " she intoned expressionlessly, and Hermione lunged to the side, yanking Daphne to the floor as Cormac leapt in the opposite direction.

The curse shot through the mesh of the aviary cage and sizzled against the heavy wood of the door behind them as Hermione and Daphne frantically looked up, trying to locate Ginny's moving presence in the room. She had taken a few steps towards them, her wand still raised, and with a slow deliberation she met Hermione's eye with her own, tilting her head slightly and opening her mouth to mutter another spell.

" _Expelliarmus,_ " she said, casting Hermione's wand aside and kicking it out of reach before turning to Daphne, who promptly rolled out of the way of a blasting curse that bore through the old wooden panes of the floor. She landed on her side, panting, and Ginny took three rapid steps, raising her wand to hold it to Daphne's temple.

"Ginny," Cormac called breathlessly, leaping to his feet on the opposite side of the cage and drawing her attention, prompting her to pivot towards him. "Ginny, it's me, okay?"

"I hope he doesn't think that'll actually work," Daphne muttered as Ginny turned, struggling to her feet and then tossing Hermione's wand back to her. "I just need to get a little closer - "

"Ginny," Cormac continued, his hands outstretched, reaching for her. "I came for you," he supplied coaxingly. "Remember? I said I'd keep you safe - "

Ginny stared at Cormac with the same lack of recognition she'd given Hermione and raised her wand again, aiming it between his eyes. " _Avada Kedavra -_ "

"Ginny," he repeated, his eyes wild as he darted behind the cage, just missing the curse as it ricocheted from the iron bolts. "It's me," he pleaded, "remember?"

"Daphne," Hermione whispered. " _Now_ \- "

Daphne dropped the ring on the floor beside Ginny's feet and leapt backwards, watching the tiny enameled compartment flip open to release a puff of pulverized Death-Cap extract into the air that wafted under Ginny's nose, prompting her to sneeze. Her wand arm faltered momentarily and then her entire body swayed once, wildly, before she promptly collapsed to the floor, her wand slipping out of her palm to roll towards Daphne's feet.

Cormac instantly leapt forward, reaching for her, but Daphne stopped him, bending to pick up Ginny's wand.

"Don't," Daphne warned him, pointing to the dust of powdered Death-Cap that hadn't yet settled. "We need you conscious."

He nodded, fidgeting, and Hermione glanced over her shoulder, hearing footsteps on the stairs.

"We should chance the apparation," Hermione warned Daphne, listening to the sound of someone coming closer and knowing with certainty that she didn't want to wait to find out who it was. "Even if it sets off the wards, we're _leaving,_ so - "

"Use this," Daphne said, tossing Ginny's wand across the room to Cormac. "She's not on your little Snatcher map, is she?"

"No," Cormac confirmed, staring numbly at her wand in his hands. "I looked for her, but her wand isn't registered - "

"Good," Daphne said crisply. "Then _that's_ the wand you should use to get us out of here."

"You want me to apparate four people out of this house with a wand that isn't fucking _mine_?" Cormac demanded, looking up to glare at her. "That's risky as fuck, and you know it - "

" _All_ of this is risky," Daphne retorted. "But you want to save her, don't you?"

"Yes," Cormac snarled defensively, "but - "

"But nothing," Daphne said, stomping towards him. " _You_ are what's magic, not the _wand,_ so you'll fucking get us out of here because you have to. Now - " she whipped around, grabbing Hermione's wrist. "Let's _go_ , McLaggen, before - "

They stopped as the handle of the door began to turn, heavy footfall landing outside the door.

" _Go_ ," Hermione hissed, and Daphne lunged down to take hold of Ginny's shoulder at the same moment Cormac took Ginny's hand, sucking them out of the room with a tangible slurp just as the door began to open.

Hermione landed on her back, winded, in the same place they'd initially landed outside the walls of the Lestrange Estate; she turned her head groggily, looking for Daphne, and let out a sigh of relief as Daphne struggled to her feet, snatching Ginny's wand from Cormac's hand and raising it to repair the vacancy she'd created in the wards.

Hermione turned, eyeing Cormac as he cradled Ginny in his arms. "Is she okay?" Hermione asked. "And are you?"

"I - I think so," Cormac said, dazed. He looked up, gesturing to a large rip in Daphne's blouse that matched one across the sleeve of Ginny's robes. "Not bad, really - just fabric, not skin or bone - "

Hermione felt her breath catch, swelling in her lungs, as she watched Daphne's tattooed phoenix rear up, flapping its wings twice across the blade of her shoulder. "Yeah," she murmured, feeling an unexpected surge of pride at the sight of it. "Not bad."

Daphne lowered her hands, staggering slightly. "Done," she said, shrugging exhaustion from her shoulders. "Let's go."

"Wait," Cormac said. "Should we - does she have tracking spells on her?" he asked tentatively. "Or, I don't know, anything that could lead him back to her?"

"There's the _Imperius,_ " Daphne reminded him, grimacing. "Once he notices she's gone, all he has to do is will her to come back."

"We'll break it," Cormac said with certainty. "But shouldn't we, I don't know, _check -_ "

"We just have to get her to Draco's house," Hermione cut in. "He couldn't follow even if he wanted to - the blood wards there can't be altered - "

" _Revelio,_ " Daphne attempted, aiming her wand at Ginny's chest. The spell seeped in, and they waited, but there were no changes. "Hermione's right," she ruled, satisfied. "We have to get her back and deal with the rest there." She took a step forward to crouch gingerly beside Hermione, forming a tight circle around Ginny's unmoving body. "Are you ready?" she asked Cormac, making an attempt to be sympathetic. "Do you need to rest first?"

He took a deep breath, shaking his head. "No," he said, swallowing. "I need to get her safe."

Daphne nodded, pleased, and Hermione reached out, looping one arm through hers and then placing the other on Cormac's shoulder. "We'll work out the curse later," Hermione promised him. "Just - just get us home, okay?"

He nodded slowly, taking his own wand in hand and apparating them back to Palace Gardens Terrace, landing them steadily - _far_ more steadily than the last time - on the pavement as Hermione cast a disillusionment spell around them, blocking them from view.

"In there," she said, pointing to the mailbox, and Cormac charmed it open, taking hold of the small ivory brooch inside and transporting them to Draco's front door.

Daphne knocked once, loudly, and Paul the house elf materialized in the doorway, his ears drooping limply as he noticed it wasn't Pansy's heralded return. "Oh," he squeaked in disappointment, gesturing them inside. "Miss Daphne is kicking life?"

"Do you mean alive and kicking?" Daphne asked, and the elf shrugged something that appeared to be affirmation as he led them down the corridor, skirting the sitting room's fireplace. "Yes, actually," she confirmed, and glanced back at Hermione as they stepped through a doorway to a brightly lit room, the walls of which were encased - magically, Hermione assumed - with glass. "This room," Daphne commented with a frown, gesturing around them. "Was it here before?"

"This is new," Hermione sighed, shaking her head as she looked around the brightness of the small octagonal solarium. "But at least there's space," she added, gesturing around them. Cormac, following behind them, carried Ginny over to a narrow chaise in the corner, setting her down with a gentleness so reverent that Hermione couldn't help but wonder how he could be the same boy she'd once known.

Cormac reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Ginny's ear and staring at her, seeming to absorb the features of her face; he looked as though he wished to breathe her in, experience her anew. He let out a long, hard-fought breath, and Hermione stepped forward, tentatively resting her hand on his shoulder.

"What's it like?" she asked. "Seeing her again."

Beneath her hand, his posture slowly relaxed. "Like waking up from a nightmare," he confessed, not taking his eyes from Ginny's face, and Hermione nodded, letting her hand slip from his shoulder as she moved back towards Daphne, catching the other woman's hazel eyes and finding, somewhere, the ability to conjure the faintest half-smile.

"We did it," she murmured, and Daphne nodded.

"We did," she agreed, and they stood in silence a moment, letting the realization dawn. It was hard, knowing what they knew, not to each bathe in their respective fields of guilt - the way they'd each felt themselves a piece of the suffering by the broken redheaded witch who lay unconscious on the chaise.

It was Cormac who broke the silence, the sound of his forced swallow seeming to echo around the room.

"Is it just me," Cormac muttered uneasily, "or was that too easy?"

Beside him, Ginny stirred, her eyelashes fluttering.

"Oh, that was only the beginning," Luna remarked, leaning forward to laugh in Hermione's ear. "I think the _real_ fun happens next, don't you?"

* * *

 _ **Yesterday**_

* * *

"Tah-dah," Pansy declared, tearing the towel from Hermione's hair and gesturing to the newly silky curls, dyed so dark they rivaled Pansy's own raven twist. "Behold - my magnum opus, my pièce de résistance - "

"Stop talking," Draco commanded instantly, feeling his eyes widen as he stepped towards Hermione, taking her in. "It's not going to stay like this for long," he ventured tentatively, "is it?"

Hermione offered him a weary smile. "Hate it, do you?"

"I just like you better as _you_ ," he said with a frown, reaching out to take one of her curls in hand. "It is very soft, though."

"Yes, well, _that_ won't last," Pansy sniffed. "It's a temporary conditioning charm, and more hair potion than I care to admit to even owning. But the color enchantment will stay for a bit, which is probably best," she clarified. "Better safe than sorry, I think, in case she's spotted by anyone who might recognize her."

"Which I don't think anyone would," Hermione reminded both of them, holding up a small silver hand mirror to eye Pansy's handiwork, "considering they didn't before. But it does look nice," she admitted, her cheeks slightly flushed. "You have a knack for beauty charms, Pansy."

"Of course she does," Potter remarked, peeking his head in the doorway. "Just imagine what she _actually_ looks like under there," he added, gesturing to Pansy's face and ducking as she threw the towel she'd been holding where his head had been.

"Potter," she shouted, stomping after him. "Get _back here_ \- "

"He's there, grab him!" Daphne exclaimed from down the hall, the sound of laughter rising to a shriek and then promptly fading as Pansy must have chased them both down the stairs.

"Animals, the lot of them," Draco sighed, and Hermione looked up, shaking her head in amusement.

"Isn't it amazing?" she remarked fondly. "How easily it comes back to us."

"What does?" he asked, pulling her up to take her in his arms.

She smiled radiantly. "Joy," she murmured, and he tilted her chin up, brushing his lips across hers.

"Hey," Potter said breathlessly, appearing in the doorway and making a face as Draco and Hermione jumped apart. "Where's Nott?"

"Grabbing some clothes from his house," Draco supplied, rolling his eyes. "Which is the same answer I gave you twenty goddamn minutes ago, you unbearable _swine_ \- "

"When are we going?" Potter demanded. "I thought you might manage a sense of urgency, Malfoy, but clearly I aimed much too high - "

"We can't go until Cormac's able to get away from wherever he's stationed," Hermione reminded him, adopting the very patient cadence that Draco noticed she often used with Potter. "And as another point of relevance, it really wouldn't do you much good to show up at Hogwarts in the middle of the night, would it?"

"I don't care," Potter said crossly. " _You_ have to get Ginny, and _I_ have to find Luna - "

"Which we'll _do_ ," Draco trumpeted impatiently, "if you can just manage to _sit down_ for five fucking minutes - "

"I need a distraction," Potter sighed. "I hate waiting."

"That's true," Hermione somberly informed Draco. "He's stupendously horrible at it."

"Run through the plan again with Pansy, then," Draco suggested impatiently, gesturing downstairs. "She'll apparate us to Hogsmeade and wait for a signal," he prompted, "and then _you'll_ get Theo and me through the castle with your, whatever, maudlin map - "

" _Marauder's_ map," Potter corrected, and then grinned, looking smugly satisfied. "Look at you, Malfoy," he commented, "you're finally settling into your role as the leader of the Order - "

"I AM NOT - " Draco bellowed, but was promptly cut off by Hermione's hand nudging itself delicately against his mouth, capturing the words between her fingers.

"Harry," she ventured brightly, "could you give us a minute?"

Potter made a face. "Fine," he said stubbornly. "But only out of respect for the new Order," he added irreverently, leaping away as Draco pulled out his wand in warning, pointing it at his rapidly retreating form.

"Put that down," Hermione sighed, lazily batting Draco's wand from his hand. "You're not going to run around cursing Harry, are you?"

"Not unless he asks for it," Draco muttered. "Which he _is -_ "

She cut him off with a kiss, her fingers making their way from his shoulders to the back of his neck and then cupping the base of his scalp, digging in as she rose up on her toes. "Hush," she said, and he obliged, his breath suspended at her touch.

"You're sure," he whispered against her lips, closing his eyes as he gave in again to unrelenting worry. "You're certain you can get past the wards?"

"I've done it many times before, _including_ to your house," she reminded him. "And frankly," she added, frowning slightly, "even if I had doubts, Daphne's certain enough for all of us."

"She is, isn't she," Draco remarked, shaking his head. "You've converted her to your little cult of heroism, haven't you?"

"She's no quicker a study than you," Hermione teased, and Draco grimaced, thinking of the matter he and Pansy had already discussed.

"I wouldn't jump to conclusions about that, Granger," he told her. "We'll see if I follow through on my promises before we foolishly dub me any kind of hero, okay?"

"You are, though," she assured him, digging her fingers into his hips. "And Theo is," she added, looking thoughtful.

" _He_ might be," Draco agreed. "He certainly takes to it more willingly."

"You'll get there," she assured him, and he sighed.

"I just don't understand what I've done to deserve my house being made a menagerie of idiocy," he grumbled, and she shook her head, tutting softly as she pulled him closer. "And to think you wanted me to fix Potter," he lamented into the top of her head, "as if he _weren't_ his usual twatting self - "

Hermione leaned away, her brow furrowed. "You don't actually think this is Harry in proper working order, do you?"

Draco shrugged. "If it looks like a duck - "

"He's reckless," Hermione cut in, frowning. "He's a constant explosion, he's careless with his own life - he's too agitated to sit down, to even _feel loss -_ "

"And this is new?" Draco asked, and Hermione sighed.

"Maybe not," she admitted. "There was always a little bit of inequity after Ron - " she trailed off, grimacing, and Draco hid a swallow of guilt. "Harry was just never really the same," she finished, looking saddened. "I think that after Ron was gone, a piece of what kept him balanced was gone, too."

"Well, if you want _me_ to be Weasley, I think you've tickled the wrong sleeping dragon," Draco informed her, and despite her obvious attempt to maintain a straight face, she laughed.

"No, I don't want that," she agreed. "I just - "

She paused, something settling apprehensively on her tongue, and he pulled her close again, tucking her cheek against his chest.

"Go ahead," he said, feigning exasperation. "Tell me a story."

He felt her smile into his shirt, warming him completely.

"Once upon a time there was a prince," she murmured, and he nodded against her curls, resigning himself to listen. "He was a hunter, born and bred to kill, but found within himself a spark of something more - desiring, in some way, to draw from a well of mercy instead of a quiver of arrows."

"One day, when he had gone some way through a thick, dark forest, he came across a wolf who was alone, caught within a hunter's trap. The prince took aim, fearing for his life, but then the wolf spoke, beseeching him: _do not shoot me, and I will be a faithful friend to you_. The prince, feeling sorry for the wolf, and not wishing to see her unmade by a hunter's trap, set her free, and the wolf followed him, keeping her promise."

"Soon after he came upon a lion, wild and untamed, and he, too, begged the prince not to shoot, promising him fealty in return for the prince's compassion, and a pledge of bravery for his benevolence. So the prince went on his way, and the lion followed; and so this happened again, with a fox, a hare, a boar, and a bear, until the prince had quite a troupe of beasts that followed faithfully behind him."

"Once they had made it through the forest, the prince, being a solitary man, bid his beasts farewell, thanking them for their companionship, and they parted ways; but as it happened, upon leaving the forest, the prince came across the series of hunters whose traps had been lain in the woods, and they, being less worthy men than he, did not hesitate to slit his throat, leaving him dead on the roadside."

"Grim," Draco pronounced glumly, and Hermione leaned back to hold a finger to his lips, smiling.

"The faithful beasts, feeling in their bones the loss of the merciful prince, came to his body and wept, wondering what they should do. The wolf, who had loved the prince first, knew some secrets of magic, and so she called to the lion, who spoke to the fox, and on and on until they had reached the ear of the phoenix, who heard their mournful pleas. The phoenix, being a bird of healing, flew down to rest upon the chest of the prince."

"Magic has give and take," Hermione continued softly, "but because the prince had once given, so then the beasts gave; they bade the magic to take from them, because the prince had once been loyal, and they could only do the same for him. Then, once the phoenix had shed three tears upon his wound - one each for healing, swiftness, and strength - the prince took a gasping breath, and he was healed, and so he rose to life again, surrounded by his friends."

She looked up expectantly, and Draco frowned.

"So, what you're saying," Draco postulated slowly, "is that I should be nice to Potter in case someone slits my throat someday?"

"I'm _saying_ ," Hermione corrected, shaking her head, "that if you're loyal to him, he _will_ repay the favor - and maybe," she added, "hopefully not in a throat-slitting situation, of course - that loyalty will have been worth the moments you had to bite your tongue."

Draco exhaled heavily. "That's quite a statement," he informed her, and she smiled, running her fingers carefully over the bruises on his cheek.

"You're quite a prince," she promised, warming him with the rays of her smile, "and when we've both make it back here tomorrow, you'll see that I was right."

* * *

 _ **Today**_

* * *

"Listen," Blaise interrupted, arching a brow. " _If_ I knew what alleged portkey you were talking about - "

"Which you do," Theo muttered.

" - and _if_ I had ever smuggled anyone through it - "

"Which you did," Draco grumbled.

" - _why,_ exactly, would I share that information with you?"

"Say, for purposes of argument, that we've gone horribly rogue," Draco proposed, grimacing at where he knew Potter was standing beneath the cloak and leaning against Blaise's desk. "Would that change your mind?"

"It would certainly comfort it," Blaise permitted airily. "Is this why you needed me to cover for you when you missed your last portkey, then?" he asked. "One of your rogue missions?"

"Yes," Theo confirmed flatly. "The _least_ rogue, really, now that everything's gone approximately to shit."

"Still," Blaise sighed, "I'm going to need some good faith here, gents." He leaned back in his seat, beckoning. "I _want_ to believe you, of course - "

"Of course you do," Draco heard Potter scoff under his breath.

" - but it's hardly that simple," Blaise continued. "If I were actually doing any of the things you suspect, I'd be balls deep in an enormous vat of _fucked_ , don't you think?"

"We know the feeling," Theo replied drily, and Draco nodded.

"I'll take veritaserum, if you want," Draco offered, and Theo glanced up, startled, but Draco only shrugged. "Just one drop. Enough for five minutes. _Enough_ ," he clarified, "for you to know you can trust us."

Blaise cocked his head, considering the offer. "Fine," he agreed, shifting towards his desk. Draco caught a slight shuffling of parchment rolls as Potter quickly dodged out of the way, moving elsewhere in the room as Blaise searched his desk drawer. He drew out a small vial, holding it out for Draco. "One drop."

Draco nodded, glancing at Theo; the other man's mouth was set in a grim line, but he nodded once, his hand on his wand in muted precaution.

"Okay," Draco said, removing the dropper from the elixir and tilting his head back, dripping it onto his tongue. He shuddered as the liquid went down, feeling the gears slow in his head as everything else seemed to grow faint and fuzzy, Blaise's face swimming before him.

"Is this a trap?" Blaise asked quietly.

"No," Draco heard himself reply, surprised that he had spoken. The word seemed to have slipped from his lips without his mind's approval.

"Were you asked to come here by the Dark Lord, or another Death Eater?"

"No."

"Have you been in contact with any Snatchers?"

"Yes."

"Any who'd cause me harm?"

"No."

"Were you instructed by someone to find me, or anything I traffic in?"

"Yes."

From the corner of his eye, Draco saw Theo twitch forward. "It's not what you think, Blaise," Theo inserted hastily, and Blaise frowned, focusing on Draco.

"What do they want from me?"

"To know where someone went," Draco answered.

"Why?"

"To find them."

"Who?"

"Luna Lovegood."

Blaise took a step back, reeling. "Who asked fo- "

"You're getting off track," Theo interrupted, clearly trying to avoid mention of Potter. "You had questions about our loyalty, so ask."

Blaise sighed. "Do you intend me any harm?"

"No," Draco said.

Blaise jerked his chin at Theo. "Does he?"

"No."

"Do you wish me to get caught?"

"No."

"Do you oppose what I'm doing?"

"I don't know for sure what you're doing. But no."

"Why did you come here?"

"To find out if the portkeys to other schools are real."

Blaise turned to Theo, surprised. "Other schools?"

Theo arched a brow. "The portkey part you don't take issue with?"

Blaise hesitated. "I just meant - "

"So the portkey's real, then," Theo deduced triumphantly, and then shook his head. "But you don't know where it goes?"

"Hey," Blaise snapped. "I thought I was conducting this interrogation?"

"You're not," Draco informed him, blinking, and Blaise turned to shake his head, groaning.

"Who gave you any reason to suspect me?"

"I knew," Draco replied. "I saw your scars. I know you're unhappy, I know you're angry, and I knew it had to be you."

"That answer is too nuanced," Blaise muttered, grabbing the vial from Draco's hand. "It's wearing off."

"It's still true," Draco replied. "I knew it was you."

"Why didn't you say anything before?"

"I didn't know before."

"But you hinted at something."

Draco shrugged. "Thought you were fucking Warrington."

"I am," Blaise replied, "but that's more a matter of convenience."

"I don't care. The world's shit. Fuck whoever you want."

"Okay, now it's definitely gone," Blaise sighed, walking back to his desk and tucking the vial away in a drawer. "Though I think I've heard enough."

"The portkey," Theo reminded him, lurching to his feet. "What is it?"

"It's less a portkey than a portal," Blaise informed them, as Draco suddenly forced back an odd aftertaste, the sour flavor of uninhibited truth.

"Okay," Draco muttered, wanting to scour his tongue. " _Where_ is it, then?"

"The door to the Room of Requirement leads there," Blaise said. "I don't know where it goes. It doesn't appear for me alone," he added, shaking his head. "It showed up the first time when Lovegood came looking for me."

"I thought you said that room was fucking barbecued," Theo said with a frown, casting a glance at Draco. "What do you mean the door leads there?"

"And how did Lovegood find you?" Draco pressed.

Blaise held up a hand, pausing them. "One thing at a time," he sighed, shifting towards one of his potion cupboards. Draco caught a glimpse of something flickering in the air as he moved, realizing Potter had been standing there. "Cassius has a Snatcher connection," Blaise said, pressing his hand to the door of the cupboard as the protective enchantments beneath it yielded, clicking like the latches of a series of locks. "Flint, remember? Quidditch players make the best Snatchers, or so they say. Something about being good at following orders, I assume."

"Okay," Draco said, leaning forward to eye the collection of materials in the cabinet. "What's in there?"

"Things," Blaise said flatly, gesturing inside. "Nothing important. A lot of letters," he offered. "People trade valuables for us to help them communicate with loved ones. I don't keep them for long."

"And I take it Lovegood heard you were doing this," Theo guessed, and Blaise nodded.

"She showed up in the castle one day. Fucking wand to my throat and everything, like some kind of manic pirate fairy," Blaise added, shaking his head. "She told me they'd used the Room of Requirement during our seventh year, but that it wasn't working for her anymore." Draco and Theo exchanged a glance, remembering the classmates who'd disappeared throughout the year. "I went up there with her, and then, for the first time, the door showed up unscathed."

"What's behind it?" Draco asked. "A portal, you said?"

"The door opens to a very small room," Blaise explained, "with about enough standing room for four or five people, and an empty frame. When I took Lovegood, the frame filled with a painting, and she stepped through it. I tried to follow," he added, "but by the time she had walked through, the painting had gone."

"What's it a painting of?"

"It's a landscape," Blaise supplied. "Nothing special. I never get a very good look at it," he added glumly, "since it never lets me pass through."

"You've done this multiple times?" Theo asked bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest. "For how many people?"

Blaise shrugged. "Maybe half a dozen?" he guessed. "Lovegood must have sent them to me."

"Does it work both ways?" Draco asked, frowning, and Blaise shook his head.

"No," he supplied. "Obviously the castle produced an exit, but not an entrance. Which makes sense," Blaise added, suddenly slamming the cupboard door shut and stopping as it hit an invisible obstacle with a loud, crunching smack, prompting him to pause with a look of surprise. "What was - "

He shut the door again, easily this time, and Draco smirked at Theo, figuring Potter had finally taken the hit to the face he'd long deserved. "Anyway," Blaise continued, stepping back towards them. "I don't think I can help much. I don't know where they go after they leave here, I just - "

He broke off sharply as the door suddenly opened behind them, revealing Amycus Carrow in its frame as Theo and Draco whipped around.

"Zabini," Amycus said slowly, taking a few steps into the room. "I thought I heard voices."

"Carrow," Draco offered as calmly as possible, angling himself towards him and trying to hide his panicked breath. "We just stopped by for a visit."

Amycus' eyes narrowed. "Did you," he mused coldly, his gaze flitting over the lingering cuts and bruising on Draco's face. "Seems like with the rate unfortunate things are happening to you, Malfoy, you should probably just stay home."

"Tried that," Theo interrupted, with his affectatious drawl. "But you know how insatiably social Draco is."

"I know _precisely_ how Malfoy is," Amycus commented humorlessly in agreement, crossing his arms over his chest as he scoured the scene from afar. "You forget, boys, that I'm in charge of keeping an eye out for behaviors. I'm tasked by the Dark Lord himself, not only for identifying skill and potential," he said airily, "but also for making note of inadequacy."

"Yes," Theo confirmed brightly. "You're certainly an expert in the field of inadequacy."

Draco glared warningly at him, but Amycus only smirked. "I recall your reticence, you know," he said slowly, glancing between them. "If the Dark Lord had asked me then, I'd have advised against giving either of you the Mark - but _then_ , you were both so thoroughly devoid of use for _so many years_ that I very nearly forgot about you. But with recent events," he offered, the corners of his lips twitching with mirth, "perhaps certain qualities of yours are beginning to come to light."

"They were just visiting," Blaise offered neutrally. "We're old friends, Amycus, as I'm sure you know."

"Yes, yes, I recall," Amycus agreed, his eyes traveling from where Blaise was standing to the floor just beneath him, the older Death Eater's brows knitting together as he seemed to catch sight of something. "Very good friends," Amycus murmured suspiciously, his voice trailing off as he leaned forward, squinting at something on the floor.

Draco followed his gaze and instantly went rigid at the sight of a few drops of blood, a small pool of it where Blaise had slammed the cupboard door into Potter's face and then a thin trail that lead a few feet away, near where Theo was standing. Theo, catching the subtle arc of Draco's scrutiny, met Draco's eye with a widened stare of panic.

"You know," Amycus remarked, sounding entirely too delighted. "For quite a while there, the two of you were very nearly . . . _invisible_ , wouldn't you say?"

Draco watched with horror as Amycus' dark eyes flicked almost imperceptibly to where Potter must have been standing, the Death Eater's fingers twitching as he carefully reached inside his robes.

"I suppose," Draco offered unsteadily. "Metaphorically, that is, though naturally I now regret that you would think so."

Amycus shifted, giving him a small smile. "I see," he remarked, and Theo, who had been eyeing Amycus' concealed hand, seemed to involuntarily lurch forward, jerkily thrusting an arm out just as Amycus drew a thin silver knife from his pocket and - with a speed Draco had not known he possessed - suddenly threw the blade of it, aiming directly into the span of air where the faint blood trail had led.

"Whoops," Theo declared impishly, presumably shoving Potter aside as the blade of the knife just managed to nick his forearm, slicing effortlessly through his sleeve before lodging in the wall behind them. "Looks as though your knife slipped, there, Amycus - "

Amycus' eyes narrowed suspiciously, but as Theo glanced down, shifting his sleeve to cover the slow trickle of blood from the narrow cut, his lips curled up in an unreadable smile.

"Quite," Amycus agreed, walking over to Theo and shoving him out of the way to pull his knife out of the wall, tucking it back into the inner lining of his robes. "Well," he murmured, glancing over at Theo and eyeing the cut on his sleeve, "I suppose it is natural to be a bit . . . clumsy, from time to time," he permitted ambiguously.

"We should go," Draco announced uncomfortably, finding the moment incalculably bizarre. "I'm sure your potionmaster has quite a lot of work to do, Amycus - "

"I'm sure he does," Amycus agreed coolly, flashing Theo a saccharine smile before promptly striding to the door, pausing with his palm on the handle. "Oh, and between friends? I'd advise you to watch yourselves, gentlemen," he warned, his smile fading to a grimace as he moved to exit. "You're not invisible anymore."

As he passed through the door, Theo let out a hiss of pain, flexing his fingers as he eyed the cut on his forearm. "Fuck," he muttered. "That knife is _sharp._ "

"What just happened?" Blaise demanded, glancing between them with confusion. "What did he just - "

"Look, if you can do something to fuck with his memory, I promise I will owe you a favor in return," Draco told him quickly. "Just - _trust me_ ," he said emphatically, "we need to make sure he doesn't remember that."

"I can try," Blaise said, chewing his lip thoughtfully. "He _is_ very predictable, and the fae spores I picked up last week do have some very subtle memory modification qualities - "

"I'd appreciate it," Draco said, grabbing Theo's spare arm. "Listen, we should go check out the portkey upstairs - "

"Should I come?" Blaise asked, frowning, but Draco shook his head.

"I know how the room works," he assured him. "Even if it's different, I think I've got it covered, and we need to get out of your hair."

Theo blinked, wrapping his hand around his arm and nodding vacantly. "Better that you get to Amycus," he agreed, and then offered Blaise his usual knavish smirk. "Zabini forever, as they say."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "You're both a lot more trouble than you're worth, you know," he said, shoving open his desk drawer and pulling out a small jar that he carefully tucked in his pocket. "But if you think it's important - "

"It is," Draco assured him, feeling around beside him until he'd grabbed onto Potter's elbow with one hand, yanking him forward, and then used his other hand to pull a somewhat dazed Theo along behind him. "Really, Blaise, it is - "

"Good luck," Blaise called after them, looking as though he very much suspected they'd need it.

"Thanks," Draco muttered thoughtlessly, and then paused, turning back towards him. "Blaise," Draco called, meeting his eye. "I'm sorry I didn't do something sooner."

Blaise smiled wanly. "Go," he said, waving a hand, and Draco nodded, hustling forward with Theo on one arm and Potter stumbling after them under the cloak.

"Did you not notice you were bleeding?" Draco hissed to Potter, sparing a glare at where he assumed the other man was. "Fucking hell - "

"My nose," Potter snapped under his breath. "I think Zabini fucking broke it."

"Episkey," Theo said weakly, and Draco glanced at him in confusion, frowning.

"Okay then," Draco muttered, arriving at the seventh floor and performing his usual ritual, pacing in front of the wall. "Okay, we need that portal - we need to get to Lovegood - "

After three rounds of pacing the door appeared; a _different_ door, Draco noted, frowning at the way it so closely resembled the Durmstrang ship as he remembered it from fourth year, but he quickly pushed it open, dragging Potter and an absurdly slow-moving Theo behind him.

"Here," Draco said, eyeing the portrait after sealing the door shut behind him. "Look, the landscape - "

"It's probably a portrait of exactly where the portal leads," Potter remarked, removing the hood from his cloak to reveal that he'd likely been correct - Blaise had broken his nose with the impact of the cupboard door. "Come on," he urged, stepping through it, and Draco sighed, pulling a listless Theo along behind him.

"What's with you?" he muttered in Theo's ear, but as Theo forced out an incoherent response, Draco was distracted by the rarity of Potter being correct twice in a row; they had stepped into a wooded area that looked precisely as the landscape painting had, with coastal conifers that circled a hard-packed clearing lined with a mossy-looking grass.

"We're near the water," Potter pointed out, listening for the sounds of it. "Explains why they took a boat, really, if we're actually where you think we are - "

"Potter, come here," Draco beckoned, calling him back and aiming his wand as he turned. " _Episkey_."

"Ouch, fuck," Potter swore, doubling over as his nose promptly knocked back into place. "What was that for?"

"I was _fixing_ it, you insufferable shit," Draco reminded him. "Or do you want to stumble across Lovegood with your nose completely askew?"

"Eh, she's seen worse," Potter said, pivoting to make his way through the clearing as Draco turned, gesturing impatiently for Theo to follow.

"Theo," he beckoned, glancing over his shoulder. "Are you com- "

He stopped, startled, as he caught sight of Theo's face, his skin pale and bloodless as he stumbled forward, trying to follow. "Theo, what the fuck?"

Theo staggered slightly, blinking to clear his vision. "Draco," he managed with difficulty, the name emerging in a slur. "Draco, my - my arm - "

"What is it?" Draco asked, launching forward to catch him as Theo suddenly pitched sideways, his knees buckling beneath him. "Potter," Draco yelled, calling to where the other wizard had wandered forward into the clearing. "Come here - "

"What happened?" Potter asked, taking a few quick strides to reach them and watching as Theo's head swung forward wildly, momentum drawing him down until Draco was supporting the entirety of his weight, straining to throw one of Theo's arms over his neck. "Is he - "

Potter stopped, choking on startled recognition, and then closed the distance between them to grab Theo's arm, his eyes widening as he looked at the cut from Amycus' knife. "Fucking hell," Potter gasped, tearing open Theo's sleeve and holding the arm up for Draco to see. "The wound is fucking - it's _dying,_ Malfoy - "

Draco felt the blood drain from his face as he looked at the unrecognizable flesh that had only minutes ago been the neatly muscled line of Theo's forearm, the area around the cut spreading with a spidery flush of decay; the wound was clearly infected, rotting from the inside out and spreading through the webs of Theo's veins until the blood beneath his pale skin had turned a sickening shade of black. "What - " Draco began vacantly, not sure he could believe what he was seeing. "What is - _how_ \- "

"Nott," Potter said loudly, frowning as he reached up to shake Theo by the shoulders. "Nott, stay with us - "

Draco felt his own pulse slow, morphing to a dull roar; and then, violently, it raced.

"Is," Draco began, fighting for his voice, "is he conscious?"

"No," Potter said, frowning as he slapped Theo's cheeks, trying to jar him awake. "He's - he's barely fucking _breathing_ , Malfoy - "

"We have to go back," Draco said suddenly, shifting Theo under his arm and then collapsing with him on the ground, scrambling to kneel over the slow fall of his chest. "The knife must have been poisoned, or cursed," Draco muttered, eyeing the wound with a mix of blinding terror and putrefying revulsion. "We have to get Blaise," Draco ranted, "he'll have an antidote, he _has_ to - "

"We can't," Potter reminded him gruffly, his cheeks colorless as he dropped to his knees beside Theo. "You heard Blaise, Malfoy, the portal only works _one way,_ and it's gone now _-_ "

"We have to do something," Draco returned blankly, feeling Theo's breath start to falter beneath him. "He's - he's not breathing, Potter, we have to - "

"I - I don't know," Potter stammered. "If I were Hermione, maybe I'd - I could, but this - I - "

"WE HAVE TO DO SOMETHING," Draco suddenly erupted, scrambling for his wand. " _Tergeo_ ," he muttered desperately, pointing it at Theo's forearm; nothing. " _Vulnera Sanentur - Confervo -_ "

"Not working," Potter said, shaking his head. "Malfoy, it's not - it's not working - "

"It _has_ to work," Draco half-shouted, running through every healing spell he could think of. "It fucking _has to,_ Potter, this is - " He looked up, fighting the burn that had lodged in his throat, stabbing the backs of his eyes. "This is _Theo,_ " he choked out, struggling for breath. "Potter, it's Theo, he can't - " he looked back down, his hands starting to shake as he watched Theo's face gradually drain of color. "Something has to _fucking work,_ Potter - Potter, _please,_ I owe him my fucking _life -_ "

 _Magic has give and take,_ he heard Hermione say, her voice a solemn whisper in his mind.

Potter leaned forward, pressing his ear to Theo's chest. "He's not breathing," Potter muttered hoarsely, shaking his head as he shifted to press his fingers to Theo's neck, feeling for a pulse. "He's not breathing, Draco, his heart's not beating - "

 _Magic has give and take -_

"No," Draco retorted flatly, the thought seeming impossible even as he himself could feel the telling signs of his best friend dissolving beneath him, the irreverent grin long gone from his lips. "No, that's - that can't - no, Potter, you're wrong, you - you're not a healer - "

"I'm not wrong, Malfoy, I'm not _fucking wrong_ ," Potter returned maniacally, checking his pockets. "I - there has to be something, we have to - "

Potter's gaze abruptly sharpened, his hand closing around something; he reached into his pocket, pulling out the _vitae_ dagger and then roughly shoving Draco aside.

"Potter," Draco shouted hysterically, "the last thing we need is _more motherfucking knives -_ "

"He's already dead, Malfoy," Potter snarled at him, slicing a line into his own palm. "What he needs," he hissed, grabbing Theo's injured arm, "is _life_."

 _Magic has give and take -_

"Potter," Draco shouted frantically, reaching for his shoulder. "Potter, what the fuck are you doing?"

The other man ignored him, shoving Draco's hand away and pressing the cut on his palm to the gaping slice in Theo's arm. Draco, horrified, stared at him, and saw for the first time that there was something iridescent in the other man's hand; a metallic liquid that had poured out - melting, like molten gold, into Theo, the black tunnels of his poisoned veins lapping it up like honey.

Potter was saying something; Draco tore his gaze away, focusing on the dark haired wizard's face.

"Come on," Potter was saying through his teeth, repeating it over and over as he pressed the knife wound on his palm to Theo's arm. "Come on - Nott, you fucker, _wake up_ \- "

"Potter," Draco gasped desperately, watching with horror as darkened shadows began to form around his green eyes. Shadows sank into his cheeks, making a mockery of his youth, as pale streaks sprouted in his ebony hair. "Potter - _Harry,_ you have to stop - "

 _Magic has give and take -_

"Harry," Draco shouted, grabbing him. "If you give him any more, _you're_ going to fucking die - "

He jerked Potter away forcefully and they both collapsed, panting, falling onto their backs from momentum; Draco took his hand hurriedly, cleaning and sealing the wound, and as Potter's palm slowly stitched itself over the transformation of his face finally stilled, the lingering shadow of the knife's damage glittering along a seam that gradually disappeared.

They both stared, panting, as Potter drew a hand to his cheek, feeling the peppered stubble that had sprouted there; and then there was a twitch of motion from Theo and they both turned, holding their breaths.

From a few feet away, Theo suddenly gasped, his chest filling with a sharp, brusque force that launched him forward, propelling him forth and then sending him reeling, like he'd been dragged up by a string.

"What happened," Theo rasped without hesitation, his fingers white where they pressed into his own injured arm; Draco could see that the only remaining evidence of the poisoned knife was a jagged black line, like a lightning bolt across his arm. "I was - it was dark, and then - "

He broke off, catching sight of the knife that had fallen to the clearing floor - the edge of it still dripping with whatever it had stolen from Potter - and his eyes widened, slowly shifting to focus on Potter's face.

"Did you - " Theo asked hoarsely, staring at him. "How - why did you - "

He faltered, and then fell silent.

"How much did you give me?" Theo croaked eventually, and Potter shook his head, uncertain.

Draco wordlessly tore his gaze away from Theo to take in the state of Potter's damage, unsure what to expect. The other man had clearly aged several years in a matter of minutes; his hair was marked now by narrow streaks of silver, flecks of it dusting the sides of his temples where there had once been a solid pitch of black. His mouth, once lined with youthful mischief, now bore deepened crevices on either side, the lines of his cheek more sharply angled, the shadows a little darker under his eyes - and his scar, Draco noted, was more pronounced than ever, a chilling echo of a past that couldn't be hidden.

 _Magic has give and take -_

"At least ten years," Draco forced out in answer, choking on a combination of awe and disbelief; on a breath that was splintered, torn between laughter and sobs.

 _Magic has give and take -_

 _Magic gives, and it takes, and it takes, and it takes -_

"Harry," they heard a voice say tentatively. "Is that you?"

 _Magic takes, but we always fucking rise._

* * *

 **a/n:** Story inspiration from _The Three Princes and their Beasts,_ a Lithuanian fairy tale from _The Violet Fairy Book_ compiled by Andrew Lang, and dedicated to VictoriaSwan (for the feels). Hoping for updates to pick up (should the muse cooperate) to take us through the next series of big events.

PS - left a little trinket for those of you who read the most recent _Amortentia_ one shot; hope you enjoyed . . .


	26. The War Eternal

**Chapter 26: The War Eternal**

* * *

 _ **1999**_

* * *

Hermione sat up in bed, panting, and tried to blink away the last vestiges of the interior of Malfoy Manor from the sleep-deprived channels of her mind. She was relieved, at least, that her memories were growing hazier, less concrete; she remembered the episode - _the torture,_ she corrected herself firmly, _call it by its name -_ less as a chronicle of time than as flashes of blurred visions, tricks of light.

Time, in her mind, was no longer linear. It wasn't past or present; there was no longer a distinction. She suffered it now as she had suffered it then, experiencing the same hour or so on an unbroken loop each night.

Flashes of color, mostly. Aged mahogany. Black robes, black ink, a flash of steel.

A pale glow, a silvered edge; _of course it's you -_

 _Of course it's us -_

 _Of course it's pain -_

Each time a collision. _I'm sorry,_ she swore she'd seen him mouth; she still wasn't sure if she hadn't simply imagined it.

 _Coward,_ she'd thought back firmly, but her final glimpse of him - fearful, remorseful, resigned - was always the hardest to blink away, and she was glad, for reasons she couldn't understand, that she had not said the word out loud.

It took a moment - a few conscious breaths - and then she gradually rid herself of the ghost of Draco Malfoy, making a point not to wonder if he were sleeping soundly tonight. Instead, she sat up slowly, peering around in the dark until she found the vacancy she'd expected.

"Hey," she whispered, tiptoeing outside and joining Ginny a few feet from the tent. "How long did you last?"

Ginny spared her a vacant half-smile and shrugged before returning her attention to whatever she'd been looking at. "Couple hours," she replied, aiming her chin further in the distance. "Doesn't look like they've gone to bed yet at all," she commented, and Hermione grimaced, catching sight of Harry and Luna in the distance. Luna was looking at the sky, her chin up and tilted curiously; Harry was looking at her, his eyes caught on the angle of her cheek.

Hermione caught the glimpse of longing on Ginny's face and felt something oppositional rise up in her chest.

"I don't think," Hermione began uncertainly, but Ginny shook her head, interrupting.

"Don't," she said quietly. "You don't need to make me feel better. I can see it for myself," she remarked, leaning back onto her elbows and gesturing. "And really, it's not like I'm - " she paused, carefully parsing out her words. "I'm just happy for them," she concluded, skirting whatever she'd been about to say. "I _want_ them to be together, honestly."

"Ginny," Hermione said skeptically, but she was cut off again.

"I mean it," Ginny said firmly. "He's different now, you know? And so am I," she murmured. "Something's happened to him, and to me."

"Still," Hermione protested, flinching from the burdensome earnestness that had chirped its way into her voice. "It could still work," she insisted, but Ginny shook her head slowly.

"Whatever he shared with You-Know-Who is gone now," Ginny remarked. "I can feel it. The absence of it," she clarified, and Hermione grimaced.

"Isn't that a good thing?" she asked tentatively. Ginny shrugged.

"Yes?" she wondered, but winced. "No. Well, yes," she amended, "but no."

"Okay," Hermione permitted weakly, and Ginny managed a small smile.

"Of _course_ it's a good thing to not have You-Know-Who living in his head," she assured Hermione quietly, "but as long as I've known Harry, he _has._ And now he's someone different," she sighed, with a tinge of unsettled regret. "Bigger, somehow, and wilder, and more himself - but less at home with me." She looked into the distance, watching Luna point to something above them; a star, Hermione guessed, or else a Nargle. "I love her too, you know," Ginny commented. "The year the three of you were gone, she was - I couldn't have survived without her."

"But still," Hermione began, but faltered.

 _But you waited so long for him -_

 _But you've waited, and you've wanted -_

"Hermione," Ginny said gently, "believe me when I tell you that this is better. Besides, I wasn't exactly - "

She let the words die on her tongue, shaking her head. "Nevermind," she determined briskly. "Just let it happen between them, Hermione, because she's the one who'll help him. _She'll_ be here," Ginny said emphatically, "and I - "

She trailed off again, an ominous misery settling over her features; Hermione sighed.

"I know you're worried about your parents," Hermione began, trying her best to be sympathetic. "But they wouldn't want you to sacrifice your safety for theirs, you know - "

"Doesn't matter," Ginny cut in, tugging absentmindedly at the end of her braid. "It would be better for everyone if I left, you know," she reminded Hermione, meeting her eye. "You included."

"But we can keep you safe," Hermione pressed - not that the statement sunk in. Ginny's brown eyes had already gone vacant with thought, her mind temporarily lost somewhere to her memory.

"He won't hurt me," Ginny said, speaking more to the sky, the trees, the ground; more to herself than to Hermione. "He doesn't want me gone," she added, straightening. "He just wants me - " she shuddered. " _Close_."

A repulsive thought, though Hermione tried not to show it.

"You still think this is because of the diary?" she asked tentatively, and Ginny shrugged.

"I think if he could still have the diary, or even if anyone else had used it, I might not be so important," Ginny commented. "But seeing as I was the only one who ever - " she broke off, swallowing. "The only one who actually carried out _his_ magic - "

"But what could he _possibly_ have to gain that he hasn't already learned?" Hermione interrupted, frustrated. Ginny shrugged.

"I wonder if he just misses it," she remarked, catching Hermione by surprise. "It's different now," Ginny clarified, turning to her. "The magic of his that I used from his school days is different than what he can produce now."

"You can tell that?" Hermione asked, and Ginny nodded grimly.

"Magic has a signature," Ginny explained, "like a fingerprint. I learned that when I learned to recognize his. And I learned, too, that _my_ signature has markings of his," she added darkly. "That I had seen the beauty in his spellwork and learned it from him, and now we're _linked,_ somehow." She looked at her hands, tilting her head. "I think when he's near me, he remembers what it was like before, and he misses it."

There was an odd tremor of something in her voice; sympathy, Hermione thought, and wondered how such a thing were possible.

Sympathy for the devil.

A few moments passed in silence, the forest sounds wrapping them in an audible embrace.

"Do you think it's our bodies that are magic," Ginny asked suddenly, "or is it our souls?"

Hermione swallowed, caught off guard. "It's in our blood, isn't it?" she suggested, smiling weakly at the thought that she, out of everyone, were discussing such a thing. "The magic dies with us."

Ginny forced a smile. "Does it?" she asked. "Or is he proof, in some horrifying way, that our magic never dies? That it just - " she raised her hands, staring blankly at her palms. "Warps?"

Hermione didn't know. No book had ever told her.

"Ginny," she ventured softly, "I know you're feeling like you need to go, but - "

"He'll hunt me," Ginny cut in, her voice clipped. "I know he will."

"Yes, but still - "

"He'll _find_ me, too," Ginny insisted. "Unless I stop doing magic altogether, and that just - " she withered. "That seems worse, somehow."

It did; not that Hermione wished to admit it.

"Just - promise me you won't disappear," Hermione pleaded quietly. "Promise me you'll tell me if you're thinking about leaving."

Ginny waited for a moment, and then turned, flashing Hermione the ghost of her former smile. "You know, I can tell you feel bad about Luna," she said tangentially. "But really, Hermione, I wish you'd warm up to her."

"Ginny," Hermione warned, but she shook her head.

"She's good for him," Ginny continued firmly. "She'll bring lightness to his life, you know?" she prompted, and Hermione shrugged, unconvinced. "She'll give him something I can't."

 _Not true,_ Hermione wanted to argue, but she could see it was a lost cause.

"You know," Hermione sighed, "if you hadn't had to go back to Hogwarts, things might have been different. If there'd been no time apart," she suggested, and Ginny shook her head.

"Yeah, well, timing's a bitch," Ginny asserted smartly, and then smiled. "But sometimes fortune is kind."

"I'm not so sure about that," Hermione muttered dubiously, and Ginny laughed, sparing some of her effortless warmth to lean towards her.

"Whatever happens," Ginny said, "don't give up."

"On what?" Hermione asked, but Ginny didn't answer; she rested her head on Hermione's shoulder and stared out into the nothing that slipped between the trees, the familiar castle looming in the distance.

Hermione wondered throughout the following day what Ginny had meant; she sifted through the conversation searching for meaning, pored over it as she walked; she kept it close to her heart while she performed the ritual of pretense, climbing into bed as though she might have miraculously stayed there an entire night.

Nightmares. Flashes of grey, of snakes and silver light; the same as always.

And when she woke up in the dark, she knew without opening her eyes that Ginny Weasley was already gone.

* * *

 _ **2005 (Present)**_

* * *

"She's waking up," Daphne whispered nervously, watching the flutter of Ginny's eyelids. "What are we going to do?"

"I've never read anything about breaking an Imperius," Hermione said, fidgeting nervously. The clock on the wall seemed to unhelpfully tick even louder, mocking each moment she went without answers. "I know they lift when the person who casts them dies, but - "

"Well, _that's_ certainly not likely," they heard behind them, and all turned to see Pansy stride through the doorway with a frown. "Solarium, huh?" Pansy asked vacantly, glancing around. "You sure you want her to wake up in a room full of _glass_?"

"Evidently the house felt it was necessary," Hermione pointed out, and then frowned. "Where are the others?" she asked, glancing expectantly over Pansy's shoulder.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Pansy supplied, shrugging. "I was only supposed to go to Hogsmeade, do my normal thing, and not attract any attention. Voilà," she declared drily, gesturing to herself. "I've performed to my usual standard of excellence, as predicted."

"Do _you_ have any ideas?" Daphne prompted, nodding to where Ginny lay on the chaise with Cormac hovering protectively over her. "Based on what we've experienced so far, she's going to wake up and try to kill us any minute."

"Marvelous," Pansy permitted grimly, glancing at Hermione. "Granger's got nothing?"

"Nothing _good_ ," Hermione returned, grumbling. "In muggle lore there's such a thing as breaking a curse, but none of those methods seem to do much good in the wizarding world."

"Breaking a curse?" Daphne echoed, puzzled. "With what?"

"A kiss, usually," Hermione supplied, rolling her eyes. "True love and all that."

"Well, _done_ , then," Cormac erupted sharply, not looking at them. "I can certainly - "

"Pipe down, McLaggen," Pansy snapped. "You're not breaking the Dark Lord's Imperius by slobbering on an unconscious girl, okay?"

"Shut up," Cormac muttered, but didn't take his eyes from Ginny.

"Maybe we should just see what she's like," Daphne suggested hopefully, frowning. "She doesn't have a wand, after all, so maybe if we interact with her, we can find some sort of - " she trailed off, hesitating. "Loophole?" She made a face. "Does that make sense?"

"It's as good an idea as any," Hermione permitted, grimacing as Ginny stirred again, slowly waking. "Be careful, Cormac," she warned, watching his eyes widen.

But he wasn't listening. "Ginny," he whispered to her, curling a finger along the side of her cheek. "Ginny," he murmured soothingly, "it's me - "

Her eyes snapped open.

"Okay, I think we may need another plan, just in case," Pansy whispered loudly, taking a step back. "I'm not sure you can just _talk_ some sense into her - "

She snapped her jaw shut as Ginny sat up with an alarming force, her gaze sliding through each of them in the room before she rose sharply to her feet, shrugging Cormac off her arm and aiming herself at the door.

"Wait," Daphne said, sliding in front of her to block her access. "You can't leave."

Ginny's brow furrowed. "Let me go," she said, in a voice that wasn't anything like Hermione remembered. "I have to go back."

"Ginny," Daphne said carefully, "do you know where you are?"

"No," Ginny replied dully. "But I'm going back."

"I can't let you," Daphne warned. Ginny's eyes narrowed.

"Daph," Pansy whispered loudly. "I don't think you should - "

But her advice was cut to a sputtered gasp as Ginny reached up with an impossibly quick motion, wrapping her fingers around Daphne's throat and cutting off the motion of her breath. She dug her nails in, the outlines of her fingers white against Daphne's neck, and didn't betray an ounce of hesitation as Daphne's face rapidly turned purple.

"I'm going," Ginny said flatly, and Cormac leapt up, wrestling her back until she had been forcibly yanked from a choking Daphne to stumble unevenly across the floor.

"Ginny," he coaxed her, panting slightly as she fought him. "You're safe here, okay? You don't have to listen to _him_ anymore - "

But Ginny wasn't listening to anyone, it seemed. She reached out, grabbing a glass vase and shattering it against the decorative side table before drilling the edge of the largest shard into Cormac's forearm, prompting him to howl in pain.

"Ginny," he hissed, fighting to hold her with his spare arm. " _Fuck_ , Ginny, please - "

"Granger," Pansy said, her dark eyes widening. "You need to think of something here, or she's going to fight her way out of this fucking room - "

"It's a riddle," Luna remarked in her ear, sparing a breathy laugh. "When is a curse not a curse?"

 _Shut up,_ Hermione thought viciously, and Luna cheekily pantomimed a motion of silence.

"What's stronger than an Imperius?" Hermione babbled to herself under her breath, racking her brain as Ginny continued to claw at Cormac's good arm. "Only another Unforgivable, which would mean - "

 _When is a curse not a curse?_

 _When two wrongs make a right -_

"Death, obviously, or you could torture her long enough to try to shake it out of her," Daphne rasped hoarsely, massaging her throat and leaping back as Ginny came for her with another piece of vase, ignoring Cormac's growl as he paused to dig the glass shard out of his arm. "Or you could - "

"Imperius her," Hermione gasped. " _Order_ her to disobey - "

"You'd have to cast a stronger curse than the Dark Lord," Pansy reminded her, sounding more nervous than disbelieving. "Can you do that, Granger?"

In her struggle to get away, Daphne's wand was loosed from her pocket, falling to the floor; she lunged for it, and Ginny followed.

"All I know is that Ginny's in there somewhere, and if I can get her on our side - " Hermione grimaced, knowing she was out of options and promptly aiming her wand. " _Imperio,_ " she said firmly, and Ginny froze, something making its way up her spine to manifest in a shudder.

"Ginny," Hermione said, and Ginny turned to her, brows knitted together in something that looked like an approximation of fear; either her own, or Hermione's. "Fight him," Hermione commanded, feeling the force of the words leave her lips to tingle through her arm to the tip of her wand, meeting Ginny's chest with an intangible blow. "Fight his curse, and _break it_."

Something wavered in Ginny's eyes; a flash of recognition. "Hermione," she whispered, and then shut her eyes, doubling over as she suddenly pressed her hand to her temple. "Hermione, I - I can't do this - "

"Ginny," Cormac said, ignoring the blood that dripped down his arm to stand beside her. "Ginny, you _can_ , you do this - "

Ginny fell forward with a lurch, swaying as she dropped to her knees, and when she looked up again, her eyes had once again gone blank. She struggled to her feet and clawed towards Daphne, the shard of glass that was still in her right hand slicing a line in her palm as she aimed it at the other witch's abdomen, narrowly missing as Daphne hastily scattered backwards.

"Ginny," Hermione yelled, aiming her wand again. She could feel the pull somehow, the motion of the spell waning; she forced herself to focus, channeling the majority of herself into the ache of the parasitic curse. " _Fight back_ \- "

"Ginny, come back to me," Cormac whispered, crawling towards her as she paused, sickened, clutching her own chest as though it were being torn in two. "Ginny, please - "

"Cormac," Ginny whispered, reaching for his face; she touched his jaw, a fleeting breath of relief passing between them, and then she withdrew with a scream, the sound tearing from her lungs as her eyes shifted again, something yanking her to her feet. "I - have to - "

"He's calling her back," Daphne panted. "Watch your wands," she warned, panicked. "If she gets hold of one, she might try to apparate - "

"Ginny, fight him," Hermione repeated, feeling her senses start to dull from the effort being poured into the curse, sweat trickling down her brow. "Fight back, Ginny, break his curse - "

The little flame of Ginny that resisted flickered in her eyes, lining her mouth with pain. "Cormac," she was saying, "Cormac, please, make it stop - "

He forced himself up, staggering, and took a step towards her. "Ginny, I'm here - "

"Watch out," Hermione shouted, catching the blankness reappearing in Ginny's eyes as she turned, plunging the shard of glass from her hand into Cormac's chest and then reaching for his wand as he fell, his eyes inhumanly wide as he gasped for breath.

Daphne, who had been struggling to her feet, collapsed at Cormac's side, catching the wand in her palm as she knelt beside him, pressing her ear to his chest. "He might have punctured a lung," she said hoarsely, watching him drowning helplessly in air. "He - he needs a healer - "

"You'll have to do it," Hermione gritted out, her mind beginning to wane with effort as Ginny fell again, her eyes red-rimmed and leaking with hard fought tears despite the vacancy of her consciousness that unrelentingly came and went. "I - I can't, I have to - "

"Legilimency," Daphne shouted suddenly, looking up at Pansy as she aimed her wand at Cormac's wound. "Give her her memories back, Pansy!"

Hermione had forgotten Pansy was in the room; she spared a glance at her, weakly turning her head to see that the other woman had frozen in place, her dark eyes wide as the scene played out in front of her.

"That - that'll be painful," Pansy stammered, shaking her head. "She's already suffering, Daphne, I can't - "

"Fucking _do it,_ Pansy," Daphne snapped, muttering a healing charm under her breath and then checking Cormac's lungs, listening for motion. "It's _necessary -_ "

"You have to," Hermione agreed, swaying slightly as she forced the thread between herself and Ginny not to falter, feeling it tug and distort. "I can't break this alone, Pansy, I need _her_ help - "

"But," Pansy began dazedly, blinking once.

"Pansy!" Daphne shouted, jarring her into focus.

Pansy forced her eyes shut, then opened them. " _Legilimens,_ " she said, and Ginny, who had been stumbling towards Daphne, suddenly let out an inhuman scream.

"No, no, _no_ ," Ginny shouted, falling to her knees from the impact of something Hermione couldn't see. She clutched her chest, clawed at it, the frailness of her body more evident than ever as she bent over the solarium floor. "No, I won't - I can't - _Bill, no -_ "

 _Bill,_ Hermione's mind echoed with horror.

She fought the instant urge to vomit.

"Hold on," Luna whispered, curling a hand around her shoulder. "Hold on, Hermione."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Ginny sobbed, tears dripping to mix with saliva as she bent over the solarium floor, visibly torn apart. "Bill, I can't - I don't have a choice, I don't have a choice, he wouldn't - I would _never_ \- "

"Ginny, fight back," Hermione commanded again, and Ginny's back arched painfully from the impact, jerked aside and yanked by some invisible force. "Fight back, Ginny, be free of him - "

"Cormac," Ginny begged, blindly dragging herself towards him where he lay still on the floor, Daphne's wand still at work against his chest. "Cormac, please, make it stop, make it stop - " she screamed again, curling around herself and shaking. "MAKE IT STOP, CORMAC, _PLEASE_ \- "

"Granger," Pansy gasped, and Hermione turned slowly, seeing tears running down her face as she watched whatever was playing out in Ginny's mind. "Granger, it's awful, she'll _break_ \- "

"She won't break," Luna said sternly, her voice low in Hermione's ear. "No Dark Lord will break Ginevra Weasley, and neither will you."

"Ginny," Hermione called desperately, sinking to her knees. "Ginny, whatever happens, _don't give up_."

Ginny looked up slowly, her brown eyes gradually filling with something new; a determination rooted in terror, the last of a fighting chance.

"It hurts," she forced out, her teeth gritted, and Hermione nodded.

"I know, but you have to fight," she said again, the command surging weakly from the point of her wand. "I know it hurts," she croaked, "but you have to _keep fighting_."

Ginny nodded, her eyes and cheeks swollen, and then she shut her eyes, willing herself free of Lord Voldemort's curse. She shuddered violently, convulsing, and when she opened her eyes, the blankness that faltered within them seemed to tremor, quaking combatively before rolling back in her head, the lids of her eyes falling shut. She seized twice, retching, and then Hermione felt something yanked from her to Ginny, pulled too thin and wound too tight before snapping in the air between them.

When Ginny's eyes opened again, they held neither flame nor vacancy; only a shallow current of pain, of lingering agony that pulsed even in the midst of a glance.

"He's gone," she finally said, and went limp.

Satisfied, Hermione let herself collapse, surrendering to darkness.

* * *

"Harry," Luna Lovegood said, tucking a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear and halting her progress breathlessly from a few feet away. "Is that you?"

Potter froze, his hand still on his cheek as he tore his wordless gaze from Theo - and it _was_ a tear, Draco noted; a _rip_ , a forced severance of motion - to settle his green eyes slowly on the contours of her face, the sound of her name dislodging itself from his throat like a ruptured cough.

"Luna," he whispered, staring.

Draco's first thought was that Luna Lovegood was smaller than he remembered. Perhaps she had only seemed taller when she was facing down a Dark Lord, or improbably soothing a dementor. Here, with the forest for scale, she looked astoundingly tiny and oddly ethereal, like she were one of the coastal evergreens brought to life.

His second thought was that despite the tensing of his muscles - the anticipation at her voice - the moment had a sort of deflated quality to it; as though all the air in the space had vanished, leaving them in an incongruous fit of asthmatic pause, scarcely able to breathe.

It was odd, Draco thought, that despite Potter's urgency - despite his rush to find her, the woman he'd been implausibly seeking for the past three years, _if not more_ \- something frantic had unexpectedly stilled. He wavered in place, leaning towards her but helplessly swaying back, and she, despite reaching towards him with one hand, seemed to have curled around herself with the other, forcefully reining her limbs in.

Something, Draco noted, seemed to have rooted them both in place, neither quite able to reach for the other.

"Hello," another voice contributed from the trees, with an unpolished gruffness that Draco only half remembered, tempered by the faintest brush of a Slavic accent. "What has happened here?"

Draco looked up, frowning, and Potter's expression suddenly shifted from inconceivability - wonder, disorientation, _awe_ \- to a narrowed glimpse of something withheld; Luna, Draco noted, seemed to be fighting the urge to look away, her lips twitching expectantly.

"Holy shit," Theo said under his breath. "Viktor Krum?"

"Harry?" Krum asked, glancing between Draco and Theo. "Are these two - "

Potter shook himself, forcefully dragging his mind to the scene. "They're friends," he said quickly, watching Krum's eyes travel dubiously to the exposed Mark on Theo's wrist. "They're - I'm fine," he said hastily, "I just - "

"You look different," Lovegood commented, tilting her head. Draco frowned, wanting to express his disapproval of the statement's imbecility, but noted that the airiness she'd abandoned the last time he'd seen her had not returned. She'd relayed the statement flatly, an inarguable truth, and rather than fear she might prattle on about some nonsensical feature, Draco recognized with surprise that she merely seemed to be cataloguing the damage, ticking mental boxes of observation. "What happened?"

"I'm - I'm not sure," Potter admitted, glancing at Theo. "I think I may have - "

He trailed off, frowning, and Theo cleared his throat, rocking forward experimentally before clambering somewhat awkwardly to his feet, reaching out to offer Potter a hand.

"Maybe we should discuss this later," he muttered to Potter, his fingers clamped around the other man's wrist. "I suspect this isn't the time."

Potter nodded numbly, accepting the hand as Draco, too, slowly made his way to his feet, feeling the odd, uncomfortable static in the air that still seemed to linger crisply between him and the unexpected presence of Luna Lovegood.

She seemed to be dressed well, Draco noted, with no indications of living in the woods; he thought to ask but opted instead to forcefully clamp his mouth shut as Potter stepped forward and she matched his pace, pairing each tentative step of his with one of hers until they were finally face to face.

"You look," she began, reaching up to brush her fingers against one of the spatterings of grey along his temples, "sophisticated." She gave him a smile that reeked of nostalgia, wistful and dreamy. "Suits you."

Potter swallowed, his fingers curling helplessly at his side. "You look the same," he said.

Draco thought he sounded sad.

"How did you find us?" Krum pressed, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched the other two interact. "Is everything alright?"

Potter turned sharply, ripping himself from the moment he'd shared with Lovegood to face Krum, stumbling slightly in his haste.

"Ouch," he and Theo said in unison, the other man hissing slightly.

Draco frowned. "What did you do?" he muttered to Theo, sidling up to him.

"Nothing," Theo said. He glanced questioningly at Potter, who hadn't seemed to notice, before frowning down at his arm.

Draco caught the motion, eyeing the lightning shaped scar; he felt an unsinkable pressure on his chest at the sight of it, attempting and failing to process the loss he'd nearly suffered.

"Theo," Draco began carefully, but Theo held up a hand.

"You don't need to say anything," he said, with something that looked like pain. "Please."

Draco closed his mouth, torn, and forced himself to nod once in resigned agreement, dragging himself back to the conversation that was happening around him.

"- so then we came looking for Luna," Potter was explaining to Krum. "Blaise showed us the portkey in the castle."

"How did you know where to find me?" Lovegood asked, staring up at Potter. "I looked for you for years, Harry," she added softly. "I stayed in Britain as long as I could, but I wasn't sure you had made it out of the Ministry."

Draco glanced at Theo, noting that she seemed to have made the comment with an undertone of something he recognized very clearly, having felt it his fair share -

 _Guilt._

"I know," Potter assured her. "I looked for you too, but - "

He faltered, and a weighted silence blanketed the clearing. Draco cleared his throat.

"The newspaper," he offered, absurdly holding his hand out as though the topic of conversation were being served up on a platter. "The Cryer?"

"Oh," Lovegood declared, blinking owlishly before turning to Potter. "It reached you?"

"With their help, yes," Potter confirmed, gesturing to Theo and Draco. "I knew it was you," he added softly, and her cheeks glowed with warmth.

Krum cleared his throat and Lovegood stirred slightly, inhaling.

"There are others," she said quickly. "Viktor stopped playing professional quidditch and started an equipment supply company near Durmstrang. He makes brooms, apparel, manufactures the game balls - "

"Luna," Krum warned, and she turned, frowning.

"It's Harry," she told him, her brows stitching together in earnest. "We can trust him."

"It's not _him_ I worry about," he replied, his dark gaze traveling pointedly from Draco to Theo, who, not unpredictably, made a face.

"Potter kind of just raised me from the dead," Theo supplied loudly. "But if _that's_ not enough of a reason for you to trust us - "

"It's enough," Luna ruled with an unexpected firmness, turning back to Potter. "Snitches have flesh memories," she explained, and Potter's eyes widened with recognition. "You taught me that, Harry Potter," she added, tilting her head with a dizzied smile.

"Wait," Draco interrupted, frowning. "So does that mean - "

"The other Order members are hiding out in a warehouse outside of London," Luna confirmed, sparing him a hazy glance. "There's only a few, but they're there, and we contact them via Snitches that contain hidden messages."

"That's genius," Theo remarked, and Draco nodded his agreement.

"Do they distribute the newspapers for you?" Draco asked, and Luna nodded.

"Mostly they travel around trying to find people," she offered. "Neville especially," she added, beaming with pride. "He finds the others and leads them to Blaise, and then I send them to the warehouse. He usually warns me before he does that, so this - " she exhaled, a fleeting smile playing over her lips. " _This_ is a bit of a surprise."

"But they're still in England, and you choose to stay here," Potter noted, with more than a hint of implication; at the subsequent stiffening of Krum's shoulders, Draco had to fight a grimace.

"Yes," Lovegood said, nodding slowly as her smile faltered. "I choose to stay here."

Theo and Draco exchanged a glance.

"Until now," she offered quickly.

Not quite quickly enough.

"So how did you two get caught up in this?" Krum interrupted, jutting his chin out at Draco and Theo as he took a step closer to Lovegood. "You're Death Eaters, are you not?"

"Terrible ones, as it turns out," Theo confirmed, and Draco nodded.

"I found Potter when I was checking for Beauxbatons," he admitted. "I'd heard Zacharias Smith had been there," he offered in explanation, and Krum's eyes narrowed knowingly.

"He came around here as well," Krum confirmed, glowering. "We were worried he had been warned of our presence."

"He always was very clever," Luna commented darkly. "Unhelpfully so."

"Well, the basis for the idea _was_ in a book we were all expected to read," Theo commented drily. "Perhaps a Hogwarts education was not the world class experience we were all so firmly assured," he added, yawning widely.

"I just realized," Potter commented suddenly, turning to Draco. "I never knew why you went to France to begin with."

"Oh," Draco said, feeling a tad idiotic. "It's stupid, really, but I was, um." He grimaced. "I was looking for a . . . centaur," he finished, trying not to look at whatever expression Theo was wearing. "I know," he added hastily, meeting Potter's skeptically arched brow. "It sounds ridiculous, but - "

"Oh, do you mean Firenze?" Lovegood asked, suddenly checking over her shoulder. "He's around here somewhere," she said thoughtfully, and despite his earlier avoidance, Draco turned pointedly to Theo.

"I told you 'it's too cold' was terrible reasoning," Draco muttered, and Theo shrugged innocently.

"Whoops," he declared without enthusiasm, and Draco shook his head.

"And to think you nearly died," he said, aiming for nonchalance that he decidedly missed. Theo's grin faltered, and Draco abruptly turned back towards the others.

"Not that you can tell by this exchange," Potter cut in, taking a step towards Lovegood and doing a surprisingly successful job of diffusing the awkwardness, "but Malfoy and Nott have actually been quite helpful. And Daphne Greengrass and Pansy Parkinson," he added, "and Hermione, of course - "

"Which, speaking of Granger," Draco interrupted, feeling a rush of renewed concern. "We should really get back, as they'll have found Ginny by now, I'd imagine - "

"Ginny," Lovegood said, her breath catching. "Did you - is she - "

"Remarkable," a voice said behind them, hooves thudding softly on the ground. "You really are steeped in sun, aren't you?"

Draco spun so sharply he nearly flew, dizzied by the words. "You know it?"

"What?" Potter and Krum asked in unison, but Lovegood only looked coyly amused.

Firenze the centaur bowed his head. "I know many things," he murmured, "none of which are ever certain."

For a moment, the clearing fell silent, its occupants either startled or bewildered; and then -

"Fucking _foretold_ ," Theo exhaled in a low breath, a victorious smile pulling at his lips.

* * *

Hermione stirred slowly, hearing the sounds of argument outside her door.

"Daph, please," she heard Pansy say, a whisper that carried the weight of a shout. "We've hardly spoken to each other since - " she paused, hesitating. "Since Rabastan," she rushed out, as if the name itself were toxic. "We haven't talked about it at all, Daphne, and clearly you _need_ to - "

"Why?" Daphne demanded, her own voice hushed but equally coiled. "What does that have to do with this? I'm just saying, Pansy, that we don't have time to waste. I _know_ she's struggling, I do, and I swear I understand - but still, we have to find out what she knows, find out what she's _seen -_ "

"You can't ask her for that right now," Pansy cut in, sounding unusually adamant. "You have no idea what she's going through - I was in her mind, Daphne, I saw her memories, and this won't be easy - "

"Of course it won't be easy," Daphne retorted, her voice razor-sharp. "Did you somehow think killing my husband was _easy_ , Pansy?"

A loaded pause.

"He was hurting you," Pansy supplied stiffly. "It's different."

"And the Dark Lord isn't hurting _her_?"

"She's safe now, Daphne," Pansy insisted. "I'm just saying that we need to give her time to recover - "

"But we have to get to him _now_ , Pansy!" Daphne's voice had risen, flooded with fury. "Can't you see we have to end this, Pansy? We have to _end it,_ whatever it takes, however much it _hurts us -_ "

"I know that, and we will," Pansy returned, "but I just - " she stopped, and her voice softened, regretful, a rustle serving to indicate that she must have taken a step closer. "I just feel like I'm losing you, Daphne. The tattoo, the break-in, and now _this_ \- it just feels like you're spiraling, Daphne, and I'm afraid. I'm afraid you'll lose yourself," she said softly, "and that I'll lose you in the process."

Daphne's voice, Hermione noted, did not soften, and was paired with a hard step back. "What exactly did you think would happen when you convinced me to kill my husband, Pansy?" she demanded, her voice sharply accusatory, barbed with defensiveness. "Did you think it would end there? Did you really think this was only ever about Rabastan?"

"I didn't - " Pansy broke off, frustrated. "That's not what I'm saying - I just think you need to stop and get a little perspective, that's all - "

"I _won't_ stop," Daphne spat. "I _can't._ After what I've seen, after everything he did - " she cut herself off, her voice breaking. "I won't stop until I see the Dark Lord gone. He created this world," she suddenly snarled, "and I'm going to watch him burn in it."

From the other side of the door, even Hermione felt her chest tighten at the venom in Daphne's voice; she counted three slow breaths before either of them spoke again.

"So what about me, then, Daphne?" Pansy asked eventually, her voice edged with something cold. "What about _us_?"

"What did you think this was?" Daphne countered desperately. "Did you think I killed him just to run away with you?"

"I - " Pansy's voice faded. "Was that so fucking wrong of me, Daph?"

Footsteps. One of them was pacing.

"Some things," Daphne said, sounding winded, "some things are _more important_. We can wait." The footsteps stopped, and then Hermione recognized the sound of skin on skin. "We can _wait_ ," she repeated unsteadily, "can't we?"

"What if I don't want to wait?" Pansy whispered. "What will be left of you if I do?"

Hermione heard Daphne force a swallow, the answer a shallow rasp. "You should love me for this," she said softly, sounding like she was trying to convince herself. "You should love me for wanting to do this - for _fighting_ for something - "

"I do," Pansy pleaded. "I _do_ love you - "

"Then help me."

The response was stony, cut and dry.

Pansy sighed. "I don't know if I can, Daphne," she said. "I don't know if I can watch you get caught up in this - "

"Then leave," Daphne said flatly. "Love me for this, or leave me behind."

"Daphne." Pansy's voice was strained now. "Daphne, _please_ ," she begged. "You don't mean that - "

But the door to the bedroom opened sharply and then Daphne had slipped inside, letting her head fall back as a burdened sigh tore from her lips. She took a moment, forcing a swallow, before she looked up to meet Hermione's eye, withering slightly at the knowledge that she had already been awake.

"You heard?" Daphne asked quietly, and Hermione, who had never been a very convincing liar, dragged herself upright against the pillows, nodding slowly.

"I can't stop now," Daphne whispered, moving forward to sit on the bed beside Hermione. "I know she means well, and I know she's not wrong, but I can't - " she shook her head, a tear slipping down her cheek. "I _can't_ stop now."

Hermione sighed, resting a hand atop Daphne's. "Where's Ginny?"

"She wanted to be alone," Daphne supplied, staring at her lap. "Cormac's mostly healed now, and resting, so I was insisting on seeing her. I want to find out what she knows," she explained, becoming sharply animated. "As soon as she'd broken the Imperius she started sifting through her memories, and I just can't help thinking that she must have seen something," Daphne said adamantly. "That she must _know_ something, and if we can just find out, maybe we can find out how to stop him - how to _end it_ \- "

She cut herself off with a sigh, sparing Hermione a grimace. "Am I wrong?" she asked, uncertain.

It all felt very familiar.

"You know, you picked the right side," Hermione commented slowly, tightening her grip on Daphne's hand. "You sound an awful lot like Harry."

Daphne smiled weakly. "How's my phoenix looking?" she asked, looking saddened. "Still sleeping?"

"I saw it earlier," Hermione told her. "It's awake," she promised. "In flight."

Daphne's cheeks flushed warmly, and she sighed. "I _do_ love her, you know," she commented softly. "I couldn't have gotten this far if not for her, but now - "

She trailed off. But Hermione, despite everything, found herself smiling.

"This isn't my first time taking up a cause," Hermione commented wryly. "Believe me, however much you want You-Know-Who destroyed, I want it as much as you do."

Daphne hesitated for a moment, thinking, and then forced a smile. "So," she began. "You'll help me talk to Ginny, then?"

Hermione nodded. "Let's go talk to Ginny."

* * *

"Perhaps we should step away," was all the centaur had said, and then Draco, who'd never been very comfortable with magical creatures, was left to fidget at his side, wandering the unfamiliar forest.

"So," Firenze said, after several minutes of silence. "You are the day boy, then."

"I - " Draco grimaced. "The other centaurs seemed to think so, yes."

Firenze arched a brow. "The others of my kind have been known to err," he commented, but did not elaborate. "Though if you have come far enough to find me, perhaps the stars may yet prove to be correct."

Draco wanted to shrug, though it hardly seemed a fitting gesture.

"I had wondered," he began hesitantly, but Firenze cut him off with a look.

"You want answers," the centaur supplied, unimpressed. "You wish to hear the contents of your future."

"Well, yes," Draco mumbled, and Firenze's mouthed curved down in disapproval.

"You were not a very good student," Firenze commented. "I am surprised to find that you are the subject of any celestial leanings, much less this one. Though," he added thoughtfully. "Neither, I suppose, was the night girl."

"You mean Hermione?" Draco asked. Firenze seemed to offer a shrug.

"Easier to think of you as beings," he said ambiguously. Draco frowned.

"She and I are not particularly, um." He paused. "We don't - "

"You're human," Firenze supplied, and for whatever reason, Draco was surprised to find he agreed with that assessment being sufficient. "Perhaps you feel you've been pulled to each other by forces you don't understand."

"And have we?" Draco prompted.

Firenze flashed him a skeptical glance. "No knowledge is foolproof," he said unhelpfully.

Draco, lost for words, floundered in silence.

"I was looking for you," he admitted carefully, and Firenze nodded.

"You wanted an interpreter," he said. "A translator. I would not deign to be that, day boy. Not even for you."

"Oh." Draco grimaced. "I just thought you might be able to tell me the end of the story."

"Story," Firenze echoed, pursing his lips. "Do you believe, then, that the world is simply happening _around_ you? That you are not part of a larger motion, but remain somehow frozen in place?"

"I - " Draco paused. "What?"

"Why do you wish to know your end?" Firenze asked, abruptly coming to a stop. "A foolishly human impulse, you know," he added. "Knowing is never certain, and particularly spares no leniency for endings."

"Well, being _myself_ a foolish human," Draco replied, half under his breath, "I had hoped to know whether my role was - " he hesitated, not sure how to phrase his apprehension. "Whether my being part of this, I mean - being part of _anything_ , really, was - "

"Worth it?" Firenze predicted, and Draco looked up, startled. "Boy," the centaur scoffed, catching his look of surprise. "Do you truly think I cannot comprehend the fear of being forced out by your own kind?"

"I," Draco offered awkwardly, uncomfortably recalling the centaur's eviction from the Forbidden Forest. "I didn't mean - "

"You are further along this journey than you realize," Firenze interrupted, brushing off Draco's stammered apology. "Your path has already converged with many others. Prophecies," he added, "do not simply begin and end. They change shape, moving with the stars, in concert with the planets and the tides." He paused, chewing his thoughts. "You think, I imagine, that if you were to discover the ending to your story, you would be free to choose to undertake it," he commented, with a sense of finality. "But this is not the way the world works, day boy."

 _Well,_ Draco thought. _How fucking reassuring._

"So," Draco ventured uncertainly, "you're saying that I am the day boy, whether I want to be or not, and despite knowing this, you still won't tell me what it is I'm supposed to do." He grimaced. "Wonderful."

Firenze spared a motion of grim amusement. "When it's time," he said, not unpleasantly, "you will hear it from the right mouth."

"Well, it won't be yours, and it won't be any of the other centaurs," Draco sighed, "so I don't suppose I'll be hearing it at all."

Firenze considered him for a moment, but seemed to choose to say nothing. Instead he gestured back towards the clearing, angling his head. "Tell Harry Potter that it has been a pleasure to cross paths once again," he remarked, and Draco felt his brow furrow.

"You're not going to say goodbye? Or, I don't know," he said tentatively. "Come back?"

"Perhaps one day," Firenze permitted, nodding once. "The stars say that I will," he added, "but that, of course - "

"Can change," Draco supplied with a grumble, and Firenze nodded again, faintly satisfied.

"The future is quite uncertain, and not worth a human study," he commented, giving Draco an equine shrug. "The Chosen One himself will find his own path quite drastically altered, if he has not already."

"What?" Draco asked in confusion, but the centaur had already begun walking away. Draco turned, fighting a disgruntled sigh, before holding his breath to catch the sounds of Potter and Theo's voices from within the clearing.

"How did you know it would work?" Theo asked, his voice low.

Draco watched as Potter shrugged. "I didn't."

"You could have killed yourself," Theo pointed out matter-of-factly, and Potter shrugged again.

"I'd rather have died knowing I did everything I could then sit there doing nothing," he said flatly. "I've seen too many people die on my watch to know it's always worse to feel helpless."

 _Grim,_ Draco thought, shuddering.

Similarly, Theo blinked. "You're fucked up," he remarked decisively.

Potter met his eye. "So are you."

They paused. Draco took a step, preparing to enter the clearing, but stopped as he caught the unusually tentative motion of Theo opening his mouth.

"Why did you do it?"

This time, Potter didn't meet his eye.

"I don't know," Potter offered unconvincingly, shrugging. "I guess at this point I just figure that I can't die."

Theo scoffed. "You mean you _won't_ die."

"What does the distinction matter?"

"I guess it doesn't," Theo agreed. "But I meant - " he fidgeted. "I meant, why did you do it _for me_?"

The look on Potter's face told Draco that he had always known the intent of the question, but hadn't wished to answer it.

"I couldn't let you die," Potter eventually admitted. "I wouldn't."

"You could have," Theo informed him. "I'm no great loss."

Potter's face contorted. "Don't," he spat harshly, and Theo balked.

"What the fuck is your prob- "

"You mean something to Malfoy," Potter cut in sharply. "You mean something to Hermione, even, and to Daphne." He shook his head. "I think you owe it to them to consider your own life worth saving."

"Says you," Theo snapped. "The fucking tireless hero who runs around trying to get himself killed."

"I'm not trying to - "

"You _are_ ," Theo shot back; real anger, Draco judged, not feigned. "You think I don't see that? Do you think - " he broke off, furiously raking his fingers through his hair. "Do you think I can't _understand_ that?"

Potter grimaced, holding back an answer.

"Well?" Theo demanded, and Potter's expression tightened.

"Maybe you mean something to _me_ , then," Potter spilled out bitterly. "Maybe I could use a friend like you." He looked up, coldly furious. "Can you understand _that_?"

Theo frowned, eyeing his hands..

"Yes," he said simply.

"Fine. Good."

Potter quieted.

Draco, for his part, waited a few seconds before moving to enter the clearing and then promptly stopped mid-stride, watching Potter shift expectantly.

"What if," Potter ventured, and Theo looked up. "What if you really do only have ten years left?"

Theo shrugged. "Is that so bad?" he asked. "Ten years. That's enough time to do plenty of things. I can do a lot with ten good years."

"You won't grow old," Potter commented, arching a brow. "You'll just, I don't know - _expire_ one day."

"Like rotten produce," Theo agreed. "Suits me."

Draco rolled his eyes, and was gratified to see Potter do the same.

"What will you do with it?" Potter asked. "The time, I mean."

"Make better use of it than you do," Theo sniffed. "For one thing, maybe I'll successfully kill a Dark Lord while I've got the time."

Potter smiled, or grimaced. It was difficult to tell.

"Don't waste it," he warned. "I gave you the time, and I expect you to do something worthwhile with it."

"Fuck, spare me the lecture, Potter," Theo retorted, but Draco caught a spark of something appreciative arrive in his eye just in time to be interrupted by Lovegood and Krum, each toting multiple brooms in either hand.

"We figured it'd be best to fly," Lovegood announced, and Potter's gaze, once again torn from Theo's, momentarily brightened.

"So you're really coming with us?" he asked her, though his smile wavered as Krum stepped forward.

"We're both coming," Krum assured them, grimly passing out brooms as Draco moved to join Theo, nodding to him once. "I figure you will need all the help you can get, and I - " he looked down at Lovegood, hesitating. "I would like to be there."

Theo leaned over, muttering in Draco's ear. "Didn't he go with Granger to the Yule Ball?"

Draco's stomach lurched. "Not helpful," he grumbled, giving Theo a shove.

Theo grinned. "Thrilled I lived to witness this," he commented blithely, flicking away an invisible speck of dust from his shoulder and pointedly avoiding Draco's solemn glare. "Well," he announced, accepting a broom from Lovegood. "Shall we get on with this? I only have ten years, you know," he clarified loftily, winking at Potter. "Best to make good use of it."

"This is going to get old very quickly, isn't it?" Potter grumbled, and Theo smiled broadly.

"Oh, without a doubt," he said cheerfully, clambering atop the broom.

* * *

Daphne gently pushed the door to her bedroom open before gesturing for Hermione to follow, tiptoeing inside the room.

It was obvious in less than a full intake of breath that something was terribly wrong. The room was dark, the windows drawn, and Ginny herself sat almost invisibly in a corner, rocking back and forth as she rested her head atop her knees. Her back was to the door and she shuddered at the sound of it opening, pulling her limbs impossibly close.

"Ginny," Daphne said tentatively, taking a few steps towards her. "We need to talk to you."

"I can't," Ginny whispered, her head buried against her knees. "I can't talk to you."

Daphne and Hermione exchanged a worried glance.

"Ginny," Hermione said, crouching down behind her. "It's okay," she murmured comfortingly. "You're safe here." She ran her thumb carefully over Ginny's frail shoulder, feeling her bristle and pull away. "We brought you to Dr- "

"Don't," Ginny rasped harshly, yanking herself out of Hermione's grip and flinching, drawing her hands to her face. "I'm serious," she said firmly, and though she looked broken and withered and small, she didn't sound altered, like she had while under Voldemort's Imperius. She sounded, for the most part, like Ginny - or, at least, enough like who she once was to give Hermione a moment's pause. "Don't tell me where I am, okay? _Don't._ "

Daphne frowned. "Ginny, if you would just listen to wh- "

"You don't understand," Ginny cut in, her voice breaking. She turned blindly, her swollen eyes forced shut as a tear slipped from the cracks of them. "He's _watching,_ " she whispered, and Hermione turned to Daphne, feeling the air turn cold.

Then, downstairs, they heard a strangled yell.

* * *

They arrived in London within a handful of hours, lungs winded and lips chapped but astoundingly all in one piece, which Draco was certain he could not have predicted even a matter of hours before. He found himself repeatedly glancing at Theo, half wrecked with relief and half brittle with fear, wondering what would happen next; _who_ would be next, he thought, that would die in his arms only to be brought back by circumstance, tossed to a careless fate yet again.

He shook away the image of Hermione, of the blood he'd seen on her lips, and forced it out of his mind as he was met by Pansy at the door.

"What hap- "

"We need to talk," Pansy said urgently. "About - " she looked around, catching Potter's furrowed brow. "About the thing I mentioned yesterd- fucking _hell_ , Potter, what the hell happened to you?" she demanded, the words bursting out from her lips just as Draco asked, "where's Hermione?"

He and Pansy eyed each other skeptically.

"You first," they said in unison, and Pansy sighed.

"Granger's upstairs with Daphne. Ginny's here," she added, her voice clipped. "She stabbed McLaggen, but other than that, she's free of the Imperius - but _he knows_ , Draco," she hissed under her breath. "He was summoning her, and that can only mean that he _knows -_ "

"Was Darian summoned?" Draco asked quickly, recognizing danger, and Pansy nodded, her lips cemented thinly.

"Moments ago," she confirmed. "Paul told me."

"Fuck," Draco breathed, glancing nervously at Theo, who cleared his throat.

"The thing you mentioned," Theo reminded her pointedly, drawing her back to the subject, and Pansy nodded.

"We have to do it," she said urgently. " _Now,_ Draco, before he - "

"Do what?" Lovegood asked innocently, revealing herself in the hall and looking around. "This is nice," she commented, smiling at Potter. "You live here?"

"It's the headquarters for the new Order," he offered in explanation, and Draco opened his mouth to argue, only Potter looked so distressingly withered that he couldn't quite manage it.

"Come on," Pansy urged, gesturing for him to follow. "We don't have time to waste, Draco, we have to go - "

"We need her," Draco said, coming to an abrupt stop. "Or we need - " he hesitated, glancing at Potter, who stared questioningly back. "We need one of them to do it."

"Do what?" Lovegood asked, and Draco held his breath, suddenly feeling wildly claustrophobic.

"Viktor Krum?" Pansy remarked vacantly, confused, and Draco took Potter by the arm, yanking him into yet another room of his house that he didn't recognize and motioning with his head for Theo to join them.

"You saw what happened to me," Draco told Potter, the words low and hushed. "The last time I faced the Dark Lord, you saw."

"Yeah," Potter said, frowning. "So?"

"So he doesn't trust me," Draco said hurriedly. "I need him to trust me, and Pansy came up with a plan."

He willed Potter to catch up faster, watching his expression deepen.

"But," Potter said, hesitating. "For him to trust you, you'd have to - "

"Kill someone," Theo supplied, passing his tongue over his lips and coughing. "An Order member, specifically."

Potter blinked, shaking his head. "But you wouldn't - "

"Pansy thought we could pass Smith off as an Order member," Draco said, catching him up. "It would explain why he was hunting other Order members, _and_ it would explain why he went missing, why people were being kidnapped - we'd just have to say we found him, brought him to the Dark Lord - "

"But to prove it," Theo contributed, and Potter turned warily to look at him. "We need one of you to tattoo him with the phoenix."

"Not Granger," Draco interrupted quickly. "I don't - I can't - "

He broke off, and Potter looked up, narrowing his eyes.

"You realize he'll die, then," Potter said slowly, his brow furrowed. "You'll _kill_ him."

"It's that or chance someone else getting killed," Draco said rapidly. "Look, I don't much like it either," he insisted, "but if the Dark Lord continues to watch me, _everyone_ in this fucking house is in danger - "

He grimaced pointedly, hoping Potter would see the only plausible extension. He did, Draco noted, but he didn't look thrilled.

"So you'd kill Smith for the greater good, then," Potter muttered, his face paling. "I don't like it, Malfoy."

"He'd have killed you if he'd had the chance," Theo reminded Potter. "He'd have turned all of us over, no questions asked."

"And it's his fault Granger was tortured," Draco added, feeling vigorously infuriated at the thought. "She'd be dead now because of him if I hadn't found her."

"Still," Potter pressed, uncertain. "This is - " he shook his head. "Hermione wouldn't stand for it, you _know_ she wouldn't - "

"We'll keep it from her," Draco said flatly, glancing imploringly at the other man. "It's not the first thing you kept from her about me," he added quietly, and Potter grimaced.

"The Ministry raid was different," he said flatly. "You weren't _killing someone,_ and especially someone who wouldn't even understand _why -_ "

"Just - _help me_ ," Draco cut in pleadingly. "Help me keep her safe. Help me keep everyone in this house safe. Help me," he said again, feeling sincerity crawl up in his throat and tear itself from his mouth, festering repulsively on his tongue. "Help me save her."

Potter swallowed, glancing at Theo. "You approve of this?"

"I've learned there are no good options," Theo replied steadily. "It's just a matter of choosing which of the worst-case scenarios we can live with."

Potter frowned. "And you think you can live with this?"

"Yes," Theo said flatly, his gaze flicking pointedly to Draco. "Given the alternatives? Yes."

Potter fidgeted, tentatively chewing his lip. "I don't know," he muttered. "It would be one thing if he were still trying to kill us, but he's a blank slate. It feels _wrong -_ "

Draco opened his mouth to say something but was hit, instead, with a staggering pain, a cry of anguish escaping his vacant mouth; he doubled over, clutching his wrist, and beside him, Theo let out a hiss through gritted teeth, the lightning scar on his forearm raised beneath pebbled flesh as he curled his fingers into a fist.

"Fuck," Potter swore, clutching his own left wrist; his eyes widened, staring at his arm. "There's nothing there," he whispered, digging his thumb into his wrist. "I didn't - but I - "

He cut off, and he and Theo locked eyes.

"What the fuck?" Potter gasped, as Draco let out another strangled yell.

"He's calling," Draco forced out. "Make up your fucking mind, Potter," he spat, grinding his teeth in pain. "You have five minutes."

* * *

Hermione tore down the stairs, dragging Daphne with her. "I hope this means Harry's back," she muttered, stomping through the now inconveniently elongated corridor. "Otherwise, I don't know how we're going to - "

She stopped, catching sight of Luna, who turned.

"Hello, Hermione," she said brightly, and Hermione froze, forcing her eyes shut and then opening them. Beside her was - _Viktor Krum?_

She blinked, fully convinced she was hallucinating.

"Oh, delightful," another Luna said, her laugh tinkling in Hermione's ear. "I was wondering when I'd get here."

"Luna," Hermione forced out, trying not to grimace. "Viktor," she added, not quite meeting his eye. "You're - are you - "

 _Are you real?_

"What happened?" Pansy asked, her gaze passing through Hermione to Daphne before seeming to retreat, falling to her hands.

"Daphne, um," Hermione paused, stumbling over her words. "I - what was I - "

"Harry," Daphne supplied quickly, turning to Luna. "Is he with you?"

"You know, this will get confusing," imaginary-Luna sang, tutting softly. "A pity honesty is so hard to come by, isn't it?"

"Hush," Hermione muttered under her breath, and Luna looked up, confused.

"Yes," she said slowly, gesturing. "He's just right here with - "

"Draco," Hermione breathed in relief, nearly launching herself into his arms as he turned the corner. She could see sweat pooling at his brow, his teeth clenched as he flexed his left hand. "Is he - " Hermione looked down, catching the sickening motion of the snake on Draco's Mark. "Did he - "

"Yes," Draco forced out, swallowing, and Hermione took a step back, her hand still in his.

"Where's Har- "

The words died on her tongue as she saw him step into view.

It was amazing, she thought, how many versions of Harry Potter she had seen; a thousand different ranges from the time he was eleven years old. She'd seen him bloodied and battered and bruised, seen him happy and joyful and brimming with life, seen him feral, burnt to a crisp, tattered and torn and victorious.

But _this_ -

"Harry," she managed, blinking hesitation away as she took in the sight of him, suddenly a little bit greyer, looking like at least ten years had passed. "What happened?" she asked, realizing with a start that she had been breathlessly squeezing Draco's hand.

"Long story," Harry supplied unhelpfully, passing his tongue over his lips in exhaustion. "You were looking for me?" he pressed, seeming to have caught the wild look in her eye.

She hesitated, wanting to press the issue, but a tiny groan of pain from Draco pushed her along.

"It's Ginny," Hermione explained, and gestured beside her for Daphne. "We just went upstairs, and she said - "

"She said the Dark Lord is watching," Daphne supplied, fidgeting anxiously. Hermione noted that she was avoiding Pansy's eye, speaking directly to Harry. "She didn't want us to tell her where she was, or even open her eyes, because - "

She trailed off, looking to Hermione.

"I recognized it," Hermione supplied, feeling shaky. "It was like - how you - when _you -_ "

"He's in her mind," Harry registered aloud, the blood abruptly draining from his face.

"Yes," Hermione whispered, and beside them, Theo frowned.

"How is he doing that?" he demanded. "Is it the Imperius still?"

"No," Daphne said, shaking her head. "It's definitely not the Imperius anymore."

"So then if he's entering her mind," Harry murmured, looking haunted, "that means that Ginny could be a - "

"A horcrux," Hermione whispered, her fears confirmed.

Harry turned sharply to Draco, nodding once. "I'll do it," he said quietly. "What we talked about. I'll do it."

"Do what?" Hermione asked, but Draco had already slipped his hand from hers.

"We don't have much time," Draco told Harry pointedly, and Harry nodded, following after him with Theo in his wake.

Hermione frowned, watching him go, hearing the words _I have blood on my hands -_

"Hm," Luna purred in her ear, making little _tsk_ -ing sounds with her tongue. "This is all quite atrociously covert, isn't it?"

"Hermione?" Luna said, eyeing her strangely, and Hermione jumped.

"Sorry," she said vacantly. "What?"

"I was saying we should do something for Ginny," Pansy said, chewing her thumb. The nail, Hermione noted, had been bitten down to the quick. "She shouldn't be alone. Maybe we can find some way to communicate with her that can somehow keep the Dark Lord out."

"Occlumency?" Daphne supplied hesitantly.

"Draco's an Occlumens," Pansy agreed, thinking. "He could teach her," she suggested, but Hermione shook her head.

"We don't have time," she said, gesturing to where Draco had disappeared. "Besides, Harry never got the hang of it, and frankly, I'm not sure it's in Ginny's wheelhouse, either - "

"Perhaps," Luna interrupted, looking pensively into nothing, " _he_ can't invade her mind if _she's_ not in it, either."

"That's true," Hermione agreed, nodding, and Daphne turned to look at her, her brow furrowed with confusion.

" _What's_ true?" she asked, and Hermione felt a quickening of fear in her chest, realizing she'd been speaking to the wrong Luna.

"Sorry, I was, um - I was thinking maybe if she weren't conscious," Hermione suggested. "If, maybe, we could talk to her while she was sleeping, or something - "

"She can't just be asleep," Luna interrupted, and Hermione waited until the others had turned their heads before she looked up, meeting Luna's eye.

"She can't?" Pansy asked, and Luna shook her head.

"It's possible to commune with her on another plane of consciousness," she said slowly. "I know there's a spell for it - but if she's only _asleep_ , You-Know-Who can still be in her mind. He got to Harry that way," she pointed out, and Hermione nodded her agreement, grimacing. "So she has to be more than simply sleeping."

"You were wrong, you know," the figment of Luna whispered in Hermione's ear. "About magic being in our bodies. It's in our _souls,_ " she murmured, "and those can live well beyond death."

"Death," Hermione echoed under her breath, ignoring the startled head turns. "Something that's _like_ death, but isn't - "

She gasped. "Draught of Living Death," she said loudly, feeling her eyes widen. "If we give her that, You-Know-Who can't follow."

Luna's smile twitched knowingly, which Hermione did her best to ignore.

"I can have Paul get some from Blaise," Pansy remarked, nodding as she considered the options. "But in the meantime someone should stun her, or give her dreamless sleep potion," she said quickly, glancing imploringly at Hermione. "She can't hear anything, or see it, or Draco and Theo will - " she grimaced. "The Dark Lord will kill them."

"She knows that," Hermione said. "It's why she won't open her eyes or talk to anyone. She's protecting us."

"Protecting us?"

Hermione spun, catching sight of Cormac, his hand pressed to his chest as he materialized on the landing. "Why is _she_ protecting _us_?" he asked hoarsely, and Hermione opened her mouth to answer - _because, because it's far worse than we thought, because she opened a diary and was never the same -_ but was promptly cut off by the sound of Draco's footfall coming towards her in the hall.

* * *

Potter's work was sloppier than Hermione's but it was effective enough; no person but an Order member would have the nerve to tattoo a phoenix on their backs.

"Tickles," Smith giggled vacantly.

Draco pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, wishing the empty shell of Zacharias Smith would do him the godforsaken favor of _not speaking_. He burned the image of Smith the Snatcher into his brain, pictured the opportunistic sneer; hoped _that_ version of Smith would cauterize in his memory.

"Almost done," Potter muttered, and Draco shook his head, feeling incomprehensibly jittery.

"Need Hermione," he mumbled, unaware he'd spoken aloud at all until Theo had nodded, his eyes following Draco's movements as he left the room and strode into the hall, headed straight towards her.

"Please," he said, catching her eye, and she nodded, taking his hand and pulling him with her into the empty corridor, the rise and fall of her chest tumultuous against the stiff dread that kept him deathly still.

"You realize," he said, the words dripping from his lips before he even knew for sure he was speaking, "we were alone for _years_ and managed not to encounter this kind of monumentally traumatic shit." He broke off, tormented. "How do we know this is worth it?"

"Draco," she whispered, but he wasn't done.

"I watched you die in my arms," he forced out. "I watched you _die_ , I felt my best friend's heart stop beating, and I just keep thinking why not me?" He broke off, wishing he could conjure the energy to sob. "Why not me?"

Hermione sighed, looping her arms around his neck, making them a haven.

"They say there's a place where warriors go when they die in battle," she told him. "During the day they eat and drink their fill, and at night they go to war again, to be resurrected in the morning." She toyed with the hair at the back of his head before pulling back, meeting his eye. "The fearless never die," she whispered. "They can't." She paused, her gaze raking hungrily over his face. "The world won't let them go until the battle's won."

 _The world won't let them go -_

 _Magic gives, and it takes, and it takes, and it takes -_

"How can you say that, after everything you've lost?" he countered, choking on the words. "How can you keep going?"

He watched pain manifest in the crinkled space between her brows.

"I'm resurrected every morning," she said, as if that were answer enough. "The world won't let me go until the battle's won."

Draco bowed his head, pressing his lips to the place her suffering had stitched itself.

"You're fearless," he murmured, fighting to ignore the throb of his Mark. "But I just want this to end."

"You have to end it," she whispered sorrowfully, her heart thudding in time with his. "You're the one who can make it stop."

"I'm - " he paused. "What?"

She stiffened in his arms, not answering.

"I'm the one who can make it stop?"

She didn't look up.

"How do you know that?" he pressed, pulling back. "How do you know?"

She looked sad. No, not sad; she looked -

 _Apologetic._

"I know," she whispered, and his heart wrenched in his chest.

"You lied," he realized hoarsely. "You knew the ending of the story all along, didn't you?"

"I - " she hesitated. "I wasn't trying to - "

Something built up in him; something angry and painful and _scared._

"Tell me how I figure into this, Hermione," he begged her, his grip tight - _too tight,_ he knew, but couldn't bring himself to _let go_ \- and digging into her waist. "I'm not some character in one of your stories, Hermione, I'm a person - I'm a fucking _person_ , I deserve to _know -_ "

"It's you, Draco," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. "It's you. You kill him. You end this." She was breathless, exultant with certainty. "You change everything."

 _But he found that he himself was nothing, and it made him feeble, and he saw himself a coward -_

"No," Draco croaked, shaking his head. "No, but I'm not - I can't - "

 _It is so horribly dark -_

"It's you," she said, coaxing him. "You're the one."

 _This darkness creeps into me -_

"That's not fair," he said helplessly. "Don't do this to me, I can't - "

 _Seeping into my skin and my thoughts -_

"You're the one," she whispered. "You're the one."

 _If only the sun would rise._

"Hermione," he pleaded nonsensically. "I'm nothing, I'm _no one -_ "

 _To encounter the darkness head on -_

She pulled him close, her lips against his ear.

 _To know danger, but not defeat -_

"You're the one," she said; again, and again, and again.

 _It would be to triumph over darkness, and to meet his fate -_

"A reluctant hero is a hero still," she promised, her breath ragged.

 _Fearless and cool, his destiny held tight in his fist -_

He bent his head to hers.

 _It would be to redraw the stars by which he lived._

"Draco - "

 _Today_

 _Together_

 _We rise, we rise, we rise -_

He turned at the sound of his name, the light flickering behind Theo's head as he stood in the corridor.

"Time to go."

* * *

 **a/n:** Hermione's reference is to the Einherjar of Norse mythology. A slew of love for those of you who caught Felix and Wynona (haefnesa193, Gaeleria, riversgirl75, amr56, Kyonomiko, Lissymar, KatherinePond, Mondschein Psychi) and this chapter is dedicated to brigittar, who never fails to be wonderful.


	27. The King's Return

_**a/n:**_ _during FFN's most recent Time of Difficulty, no email notifications were sent out for Chapter 26. Please check to make sure you read the previous chapter first! Also, this chapter is a bit heavy; gird your loins for trouble ahead._

* * *

 **Chapter 27: The King's Return**

* * *

 _ **1998**_

* * *

"You have to mean it," Narcissa said quietly, and Draco jumped, his wand still pointed at the Snatcher's head.

"Mother," he exhaled, half-choking on shame. "I just - I wasn't - "

"It won't work," she continued, reaching out to close her hand around his shoulder. Her blue eyes traveled slowly over his face, a penitential sort of sadness filling them as she looked at him. "Sweetheart," she whispered, "my love, my darling - " the pressure of her fingers tightened. "It won't work unless you mean it."

"I know," he forced out, wincing as the words emerged jarringly off-pitch. "I know," he repeated, lower - and he _did_ , and the intent was true enough, and perhaps if anyone else had been listening they might have believed him on the second try - but his mother's mouth only bowed, saddened, as he stared at the stunned Snatcher's back.

Narcissa watched him for a moment, contemplating the hesitation on his face, and then she flicked her wand once, turning the Snatcher face up and steadying Draco as he flinched.

"You don't need to tell me you're afraid," Narcissa said, her voice soft and hurried, pausing to glance hastily over her shoulder. "I can see as much. But a curse is only as strong as your resolve, Draco."

"Only as strong as I am, you mean," he muttered under his breath, and her fingers clenched around his shoulder, her nails digging into his skin through the dark fabric of his shirt.

"No," she whispered urgently. "Your strength cannot be measured by times like these, or by force. This was not your decision," she reminded him, "nor was it mine. _This_ ," she said emphatically, waving a hand to the bodies around them. "This is no measure of who you are."

Draco looked down at the Snatcher, feeling queasy. "But - "

"Don't think of him," she breathed in his ear, catching the sound of footsteps from elsewhere in the house; of shouts and screams in another room, another episode of torture, somewhere uncomfortably close and still inconceivably far away. "Think of me," she pleaded at a whisper. "Think of your father - and if nothing else, think of yourself. Darling," she begged, her grip painfully tight. "My darling, you have to _mean it_ ," she said again. "If for nothing else, mean it so that you can stay alive."

At the jolt from her touch, Draco raised his wand blindly, the motion borne more from obedience than conviction; but even then, he stole a moment, a hapless conjuring of something he lacked, struggling to summon the sureness he knew it would take.

"What if I don't?" he asked her, his voice shaking. "What if I _can't_?"

Narcissa checked over her shoulder again, stepping in to speak in his ear. "There is more to this life," she told him quickly, a rushed lesson in a darkened room. "Everything I have done," she implored, "despite all the ways I have failed, it has only been to give you all that life has promised. But if you forget - if you find yourself wanting - "

She paused, twisting the point of her wand. " _Avada Kedavra,_ " she said quietly, and for a moment, the unmoving chest of the Snatcher seemed to fly upwards; as if the man, whose name Draco did not and would not know, had spared his last breath on earth to reach unwillingly for him, to mock him for a fool, to let the fleeting vestige of his being shudder through Draco's soul.

And somewhere, Draco was sure, the nameless man was laughing.

"He's gone, Draco," Narcissa said, and he lifted his chin numbly, seeking out her face in the room full of vacancy and loss. "He's gone, but you're still standing. He's gone," she repeated, taking his face in her hands, "but you remain."

He swallowed hard, managing a nod.

"If you find yourself wanting of meaning, Draco," Narcissa said, brushing a single strand of hair from his forehead, "remember that I would have done anything to save your heart."

Draco let out a breath, counted three heartbeats; then Narcissa took a step back, gesturing to the next in a line of unmoving Snatchers.

"You have to mean it," she said again, and this time, when he lifted his wand, his hand was steady against the wood.

* * *

 _ **2005 (Present)**_

* * *

"Something's been taken from me," Lord Voldemort muttered in a low voice, pacing the room. The air around him crackled and pulsed, rage and magic leaking from the very pores of him as Nagini slithered on the floor at his feet. "Something I find far more valuable than any of the heads in this room - and yet _somehow_ , Draco, you think that this _-_ this _Snatcher_ ," he spat, "is of any importance to me?"

Beneath the tip of Draco's wand, Zacharias Smith was sweating, his cheeks pale and drawn from where he knelt before the Dark Lord; Draco, for his part, wondered how much Smith could possibly have known about what was going to happen, and then immediately forced himself free of the thought, trying not to watch as Smith's eyes darted defiantly around the room.

 _I've told him to deny everything if he's asked,_ Pansy had told them. _It won't look real if he doesn't._

 _You told him to deny it?_ Theo asked, taken aback. _Are you saying you told him to struggle?_

 _Yes,_ Pansy replied tightly, her lips pressed thin, and as Theo's face contorted in repulsed disbelief she stiffened, glaring at him. _Do you want it to be real or not?_

"This is no mere Snatcher, My Lord," Draco supplied quickly, his fingers coiling so tightly in Smith's shirt that the other man hissed through gritted teeth, glaring up at him. "His disappearance can't possibly be coincidental. Since Smith went missing, suspected Order activity has increased - kidnappings," Draco reminded them, jutting his chin out at a grimacing Damon Gosforth, "murders, alleged reappearances of - "

He backed away from saying Potter's name as the Dark Lord bristled, the motion carrying through his skeletal frame.

"How did you find him?" the Dark Lord demanded brusquely, staring down at Draco and then abruptly shifting, peering at the others. "Rowle," he snapped, finding him in the small circle of silent Death Eaters. "When did you misplace the Snatcher?"

"He's been missing for a number of weeks, My Lord," Rowle supplied hesitantly, stepping forward. "I hadn't considered his absence much of a loss," he admitted, somewhat reproachfully. "I figured he'd missed his Hogsmeade portkey due to the usual foolishness - "

"Hogsmeade," Lord Voldemort cut in, his gaze shifting back to Draco. "When?"

Draco's stomach churned with anxiety, hoping the Dark Lord would not connect his own missed portkey with Smith's disappearance.

"I - I'm not sure," Rowle replied, frowning. "I could easily find out, My Lord - "

But he had already appeared to have lost Lord Voldemort's interest.

"How?" Voldemort demanded again, zeroing in on Draco. "How did you know to find him?"

"He found us," Theo answered quickly, dropping his chin in an approximation of reverence as the Dark Lord's gaze fell on him. "He tried to ambush me in my house, My Lord."

"He didn't know I was with him," Draco contributed, tightening his grip on Smith's collar and giving his wand a sharp jab for effect, digging it into Smith's temple. "I walked in just as he had his wand to Theo's back, and we were able to subdue him."

 _Here,_ Theo had said gruffly, flicking his wand at Draco's head. _So we don't have to watch you have a fucking breakdown again -_

 _Fuck,_ Draco grunted, the scene Theo had planted in his mind flashing across the backs of his eyelids. _Did you have to have him kick me?_

 _Believability is king,_ Theo retorted. _You'd have to fuck it up just a little, or nobody would buy it._

"Interesting," Lord Voldemort commented slowly, his eyes narrowing as they flicked between Draco, Theo, and Smith. "And I presume you have already employed the use of - "

"Veritaserum?" Draco anticipated. "We're prepared to do so, My Lord, should you wish to inquire. But as you summoned us," he offered in deference, dutifully bowing his head, "we thought it best to bring him directly to you."

 _How was Granger able to get around the Veritaserum doses?_ Theo had asked Potter, frowning. _Is that something we should prepare for?_

 _Unbreakable Vow,_ Potter supplied, shrugging; obviously Hermione's idea, Draco had thought with a grimace. _We made one between the two of us,_ Potter explained, _agreeing we would never tell our secrets while under duress._

 _Clever wording,_ Theo remarked, looking impressed.

 _And that was all it took?_ Draco asked. _The vow is stronger than the potion?_

Potter shrugged again. _I get the feeling magic does what it can to survive,_ he replied, somewhat unhelpfully.

"So you have no proof," the Dark Lord posed, his tone so morosely bitter he nearly sounded sulky. "And yet you mean to tell me you believe a Snatcher to be responsible for Rabastan's killing? That I should believe that _he_ is responsible for Gosforth's kidnapping?" he demanded, gesturing to Gosforth, who frowned.

"What does the Snatcher have to do with Harr- "

Gosforth stopped, his eyes widening as he bit his tongue on Potter's name, and Lord Voldemort's mouth tightened furiously, his fury igniting with a spark.

"SAY IT," the Dark Lord shouted, rounding on Gosforth with his fists outstretched, power pulsing ominously through the webbing of his fingers. "It's _my_ name that you should fear," Lord Voldemort reminded them, hissing through his teeth. "It is _I_ who deserve your reverence, your _awe -_ "

"Yes," Gosforth said quickly, stumbling back. "Yes, My Lord, I only meant - "

"Zacharias Smith was part of Potter's Hogwarts resistance group called Dumbledore's Army," Draco interrupted, taking advantage of the Dark Lord's pause to rush quickly through what little evidence he possessed. "He may not have fought for the Order during the war, but something changed - perhaps Potter himself sought him out," Draco suggested, somewhat recklessly. "And now Smith's coming after everyone else who remains from our year - Daphne, Theo - "

Smith struggled against his magical restraints, huffing in smothered opposition as the Dark Lord turned slowly, resuming his haunting stare.

"Show him," Draco muttered to Theo, and Theo nodded, reaching out to tear away a portion of Smith's sleeve. Voldemort's slanted red eyes narrowed to settle upon the phoenix tattoo, ash dripping from its outstretched wings as Smith lurched away from Theo's wand. "He's one of them," Draco said definitively, reaching down to take a handful of Smith's hair and yanking his head up, making an effort at malevolence. "If we take out Smith, we take out any communication he might have had with Potter, or with any surviving member of the Order - "

At that, Smith lunged forward suddenly, baring his teeth in an artless show of mutiny. Theo, caught off guard, snatched his hand away with a glare, and Draco gave Smith's collar another brutish yank, sending a muttered jinx through the tip of his wand that emerged in a strangled, animalistic howl.

Following Smith's hasty subdual Draco glanced up, seeking approval, but felt the slightest hitch of hesitation, noticing the Dark Lord's eyes were no longer on the captive in the middle of the floor; instead he was staring intently at Theo's arm, the skin of which was visible from the displacement of his sleeve. Draco inhaled sharply, catching the line of Theo's cursed scar, and Theo quickly adjusted his cuff, tucking his arm behind his back.

"Your year," Lord Voldemort commented, his lips twitching up with what seemed to be amusement. In an instant, the anger that had been pulsing through the room suddenly seemed to ebb, leaving the space unnervingly quiet. "It was a difficult one, wasn't it?"

Draco frowned, not making the connection. "I - I'm afraid I don't - "

"You, Draco, and you, Theodore," the Dark Lord offered obligingly, nodding to Theo, "have something that no one in this room besides the two of you possess." He paused, luxuriating in the swell of hushed glances around the room. "You two," he continued, "are the last surviving people with an intimate knowledge of Harry Potter - aside from this bit of filth, of course," he conceded, flicking his wrist at Smith, "which you both _coincidentally_ uncovered."

It was, without a doubt, an unsettling observation, and the uncomfortable silence felt oppressive now.

"Intimate knowledge," Draco forced out, managing to emit a falsely derisive scoff that ricocheted around the room. "I'd hardly claim that."

But the Dark Lord wasn't listening; instead, his too-sharp stare searched the room, landing somewhere in the midst of the onlooking Death Eaters.

"Amycus," Voldemort abruptly snapped, and Draco and Theo exchanged an apprehensive glance as the other Death Eater looked up. "Where's your knife?"

The pulse in Draco's chest stuttered with apprehension.

"Here, My Lord," Amycus said, looking genuinely bewildered as he gestured to the inner lining of his robe. By the lack of recognition on his face, Draco realized with an inward sigh of relief that Blaise must have done as he was asked, and managed to suppress a flood of panic. "Do you require it?"

"The blade," Lord Voldemort prompted, gesturing to it. "Cursed, isn't it?"

Amycus hesitated, still perplexed, and then nodded. "Yes, My Lord," he confirmed. "It's the blade you gifted me when I took my post at the school."

Beside him, Draco felt Theo's breath quicken.

"Mm," Voldemort agreed, nodding thoughtfully. "Tell me, the potion master at Hogwarts," he continued, inclining his head. "Would he possess an antidote?"

Amycus shrugged. "Zabini's good," he supplied ambiguously, though by his expression, that was confirmation enough. "Don't know if he's _that_ good, but he's good."

"Zabini," Voldemort echoed, tapping his mouth with an eerily taloned finger as he considered the name, pairing it with the man. "Draco," he murmured, turning back to him. "Were you not also a classmate of his?"

Draco's mouth went dry.

"I was," Draco said, and beside him, Theo nodded stiffly. "We were."

Lord Voldemort chuckled grimly to himself.

"Such a difficult year," he mused again, curling a hand around his mouth. "So many sides to choose from. And children of war can be so easily led astray," he added softly, "can't they?"

"My Lord," Draco implored at once, biting back his feelings of dread. "May I ask if I've displeased you? I simply wished to bring you _this_ ," he added, brusquely nudging Smith with his foot. "But if you do not wish to dispose of him yourself, then I will happily take care of him for you."

"Would you?" the Dark Lord asked dubiously, with a mocking lilt to his voice. "You wish to kill the Snatcher, Draco? I've never known you to demonstrate bloodlust. How _intriguing,_ " he remarked, looking stunningly unimpressed. "How truly . . . coincidental," he said again, and Draco forced a swallow, unable to back out now.

"Simply give me the word and I'll cast the _Avada,_ My Lord," Draco said quickly. "There's no doubt that Smith is a traitor - an _opportunist_ ," Draco added, finding that statement true enough, "and it would be my pleasure to rid us all of this scum's duplicity - "

"Interesting choice of words," Voldemort interrupted, his slitted eyes flashing. "Duplicity," he murmured, shaking his head slowly. "You know I can't abide such things."

Draco could practically feel Theo's lungs falter.

"So let me stamp him out," Draco assured him, trying to remain casual as Smith twisted once again, trying unsuccessfully to wrench himself free. "I assure you, My Lord, that I would happily be rid of him."

"Ah, well, I'd hardly stand in the way," Lord Voldemort remarked neutrally, turning to glide slowly towards his chair. "There's just one thing, though," he said tentatively, not turning around. "I noticed you specifically suggested an _Avada_ , Draco, but - " he lowered himself into his seat, reveling from his would-be throne. "I find myself rather uninterested in that particular method of disposal."

"Fuck," Theo exhaled, cursing inaudibly under his breath.

Draco stiffened, careful not to disturb his mask of calm. "What would you prefer?" he asked, trying to settle his racing pulse.

The Dark Lord tutted softly, feigning disappointment.

"Oh, Draco, I think you know," he crooned delicately, a reptilian smile creeping across his thin lips.

* * *

"So," Hermione said, gingerly taking a seat beside Harry on the sofa in the solarium. "Viktor's here."

Harry looked up, sparing her a grimace as he nodded. "You know, under other circumstances, I really think I'd be happy to see him," he muttered. "But as it is - "

He trailed off, and Hermione curled a hand comfortingly around his shoulder. "Luna loves you," she reminded him. "She always has, and that sort of thing doesn't just go away."

"No, it doesn't," Harry agreed. "But wouldn't it be just my luck," he added quietly, "if this was one of those times that absence didn't actually make the heart grow fonder?"

Hermione bit her lip, not sure what to say. "Have you talked much?" she asked eventually.

Harry shook his head. "She's been with Ginny since we got here. And I'm glad about that, really," he explained hastily, "since I do think she's the best person to be with Ginny right now - you know," he fumbled, and Hermione nodded, "because she's sort of good at soothing terrible fucking situations, but - " he broke off again, conflicted, and she waited, letting him take his time as he sorted out his words.

"I guess," he began wearily, "I just thought things would be different once we saw each other again."

Hermione let out a breath of sympathy, shifting to rest her chin on his shoulder. "Time is a tricky thing," she murmured, aiming for reassurance. "Maybe you just need a little more of it to get back to where you were."

"You don't actually believe that, do you?" she heard in her ear, and immediately bristled, Bill's voice shifting as he materialized at her side. "Could you love me now as you did then, even after you've been with - " he made a face, gesturing around the house. " _Him_?"

Hermione stiffened.

 _It wasn't the same with you,_ she thought. _I didn't love you._

Bill reached out, like he would caress her cheek.

"Didn't you?" he asked, his hand floating in the air between them. "And didn't I love you?"

 _Go away,_ she begged, and he held her gaze but gradually obliged, disappearing from her side as though he were carried away on a breath.

" -nd I know it's silly," Harry was saying, and Hermione snapped to attention, trying and failing to shove Bill's face out of her mind, "but I guess I thought she would have kept looking for me, you know? I thought she would have waited, I suppose - "

"I did," they heard behind them, and Hermione turned, startled, to find what she was fairly certain was the real Luna Lovegood standing behind them. "I was still looking for you, Harry," she said sadly. "I never stopped."

Harry turned sharply at the sight of her, rising to his feet. "Luna," he exhaled sheepishly. "I wasn't - we were just - "

"It's okay, Harry," Luna interrupted gently; affectionately, almost tenderly, though Hermione noted that she kept her distance, one foot still resting on the edge of the stairs. "I don't mean to interrupt," she ventured, turning her soft grey eyes on Hermione, "but Ginny needs to speak to you."

"To me?" Hermione asked, tearing her worried gaze from Harry to glance questioningly at Luna. "Isn't there someone else she should talk to first? Cormac, or Harry?" She realized she was half-pleading, and suffered a twinge of shame at the truth; at the reality that as much as she loved and missed Ginny, she wasn't sure she was prepared to face her. "Someone who can help her, I mean," she offered witheringly, though she could tell by the expression on Luna's face that the other witch had heard her trepidation.

"Harry can talk to her soon," Luna assured them, nodding to him. "There's enough draught for everyone to have twenty, perhaps thirty minutes with her. But I suspect," Luna went on, with her quiet sort of intention, "that in order to truly be helped, she quite needs you, Hermione." She paused, and then she smiled. "Don't forget what you know of lions," she murmured, and Hermione blinked, startled.

 _Male lions beautify_ , she heard Luna whisper. _They preen. They require loyalty and service. Not you._ Her smile had flickered, her pale eyes had glowed. _Not me._

"Lions," Hermione echoed quietly, and Luna's mouth twitched.

 _Female lions hunt_ , Luna had said. _They lie in wait. They don't need the cover of a mane for the world to concede that they are strong -_

Hermione glanced warily at Harry, who shrugged, seemingly unaffected by the reference. "If Ginny wants to talk to you, then she wants to talk to you," he said, holding out a hand expectantly to gesture upstairs. "I can't imagine ever successfully telling Ginny Weasley no," he added with a mournful chuckle. "Can you?"

"No," Hermione weakly agreed, and then steadied herself with a breath. "Okay," she said, rising to her feet to join Luna. "And you're sure the spell works?"

Luna nodded. "I was just speaking with Ginny," she clarified, gesturing up the stairs. "Daphne administered the draught and the spell."

"Oh," Hermione said, surprised. "Daphne did?"

"I imagine she finds it helpful to be helpful," Luna remarked, tilting her head somewhat dazedly. "It seems to soothe her, I think, and she's rather a talented witch. Did you know her phoenix can fly?" Luna added, giving both Harry and Hermione a dreamy half-smile. "I suppose you might have changed the spell - "

"No, I - I didn't," Hermione said, stunned. "The tattoo flies?"

"It was on her arm," Luna supplied in confirmation. "I'm not certain she noticed."

"Huh," Hermione remarked, and shrugged before turning back to Harry. "See you later?"

"See you later," he agreed, his gaze shifting to follow Luna's back as she led Hermione up the stairs.

* * *

"My Lord," Draco stammered, trying not to look as startled as he felt. "Forgive me, but I don't understand - "

"Well, if your theory is to believed, this Snatcher is likely responsible for both the kidnapping and murder of multiple Death Eaters," the Dark Lord replied, leaning back into his chair and curling his hands languidly around the mahogany arms. "Tell me, Draco, would you so easily award him the dignity of a painless death?"

"I - " Draco forced a swallow. "My Lord, I simply wish to be rid of him - "

"Well, so would we all," Lord Voldemort agreed, flicking his wrist to gesture lazily to the others who looked on. "But still, shouldn't the punishment fit the crime? By your own account, Draco, the Snatcher had come for Theodore - to ambush him, abduct him, possibly kill him," he added pointedly. "And yet you wish to spare him?"

"Spare him?" Draco echoed, shaking his head in disbelief. "No, My Lord, I - that's hardly what I'm suggesting, I only - "

"Oh, kill him, by all means," the Dark Lord beckoned, crooking a finger and smiling. "But perhaps let him have a taste of our wrath, first."

"Wrath," Draco repeated, fitting the word uncomfortably on his tongue.

 _You have to mean it -_

He swallowed, glancing down.

 _I have blood on my hands -_

The imprint of his wand was white against the skin of Smith's forehead.

 _A boy so steeped in sun_ , he heard Hermione whisper, _who knew, somewhere in his soul, that no rightful King would seek to punish so recklessly, nor capture so cruelly -_

 _Every time you've entered my life,_ he heard himself plead, _I've been presented with a turn, and I have faced you with indecision -_

"Do it," Lord Voldemort said humorlessly, the smile slowly ebbing from his lips. "Now."

 _You have to mean it -_

 _You have to mean it -_

 _YOU HAVE TO MEAN IT -_

* * *

Hermione slowly opened her eyes, feeling groggy. The potion had acted much more quickly than she'd expected; the last thing she remembered was seeing Daphne's phoenix drift down to her wand hand as she'd murmured the spell, Hermione's own last thought a hazy _is the tattoo helping her?_ before the potion had slowly soothed her eyes shut, delivering her to a sluggish breath of nothing.

Upon gradually regaining consciousness, every inch of her felt oddly weightless, and she processed the existence of her eyes and lungs and fingers with a gradual, unsettled waking, slowly recalling how to move.

"Hello?" she called, rubbing something that felt like sleep from her eyes. "Ginny?"

Something swam to fruition above her; a glimmer of copper.

"Hi," Ginny said, smiling down at her. "Welcome home."

Hermione sat up, registering the smell of something familiar; of a home-cooked meal - an odd but soothing mix of vanilla and sage and cinnamon and laundry - the sourceless clang and rustles and noise, like the memories she clung to hazily of what life had felt like at -

"The Burrow," she exhaled, finally placing herself as Ginny came around the other side of the sofa, perching lightly on its arm. Hermione slid her legs down from the couch, planting both feet on the floor, and took a long, savoring look around. "This is - "

"A little sad, isn't it?" Ginny asked, pulling her knees towards her chest. "Happy, too, but tragic. The worst kind of sad," she clarified, smiling weakly at Hermione. "Where it's something good, but you know it's not real."

"Poetic," Luna remarked from Hermione's right, and Hermione jumped, biting back a yelp of surprise. "What?" Luna asked, shrugging. "It is. And it makes sense, too, seeing as you've wondered something similar yourself, haven't you? Whether it can last," she said dreamily. "Whether anything can last, I mean."

"I - " Hermione swallowed. "I haven't - "

"Are you okay?" Ginny asked from her left, staring at her. "You look like you just saw a ghost."

"Is - is she not - " Hermione tore her gaze back to Ginny, shaking herself of what she thought she'd seen as the Luna who'd appeared beside her suddenly vanished, dissipating into space. "Sorry, I thought - nevermind," Hermione exhaled deeply, turning to Ginny. "How are you doing?" she asked, recalling her concern. "Is the draught working? Are you able to avoid him in here?"

Ginny nodded. "It's just us," she promised, though Hermione grimaced inwardly at the thought of false-Luna's intrusion, wondering how true that really was. "All things considered, it's nice being back here," Ginny added, waving her hand around the Burrow's living room. "Though the other rooms aren't quite so, um." She paused. "Comforting."

Hermione frowned. "Other rooms?" she asked, and Ginny nodded, rising to her feet.

"We don't have a lot of time," Ginny said, reaching out to close her fingers around Hermione's and leading her through the house. "I wish we could just - I don't know, have a cup of tea, or something," she added over her shoulder, laughing humorlessly. "But I need you to see what was in this room."

"Right," Hermione murmured, looking over as the dishes continued to clean themselves in the sink, unpaused and unhurried, as though nothing had ever changed. "I wasn't sure what to expect," she added, glancing at Ginny's determinedly grim expression. "Didn't Harry just see King's Cross in his subconscious?"

"Well, I assume people simply see whatever they need to see," Ginny told her, shrugging. "Gratifyingly, I did not have to speak to Dumbledore. I think I might've slugged him," she remarked, leading Hermione up the narrow stairs. "Just for fun, honestly."

Hermione let out a brief sigh of a laugh; relieved, at least, to catch a glimmer of the old Ginny.

"What's inside the rooms?" Hermione asked, feeling a shiver of trepidation as the doors, normally propped open for the Weasleys to scatter freely from room to room, remained firmly shut. "What's in here?" she asked, gesturing to Ron's bedroom. Her fingers brushed the doorknob as they passed; she imagined him inside, staring up at the stupid quidditch posters she had learned too late to love.

"Memories," Ginny answered, but didn't slow down. "My memories of him."

"Oh," Hermione said, her lungs filling with longing at the prospect. She dragged slightly, still looking at the door. "Can we just - "

"No," Ginny said, and slowed to turn back to her. "I'm sorry," she offered sadly, her voice hushed. "I wish we had time, but - "

"No, you're right," Hermione agreed, feeling instantly sheepish. "I know you had something to show me."

"I do," Ginny replied, turning slowly to the door at the end of the hall that Hermione had never seen before. "It's in here."

"Here?" Hermione asked, frowning. "But this is room didn't exist in - "

She trailed off, staring at the door.

"Luna told me," Ginny said quietly, watching Hermione's face as she stared at the letters that formed the words _WILLIAM'S BEDROOM_. "She thought maybe you and I could both get some closure from seeing it together."

"Closure," Hermione murmured, and Ginny forced a swallow.

"I haven't been inside," she admitted. "I haven't watched the whole thing, but I saw - " she exhaled sharply. "I saw parts of it. When you - "

 _Bill, I can't,_ Hermione remembered Ginny crying; remembered her frail shoulders shaking. _I don't have a choice, I don't have a choice, he wouldn't - I would never -_

"Pansy's Legilimency," Hermione supplied as Ginny faltered, forcing a nod. "What did you see?" she asked, turning to Ginny with what she knew to be fear, pulsing in her abdomen and wrenching itself free, like a stomach cramp. "Maybe - maybe I shouldn't be here - if this is going to be painful for you, or if this is private," she babbled, "I just - maybe I shouldn't - "

"Please," Ginny said, tightening her fingers around Hermione's. "Please don't make me go in alone, Hermione."

Hermione hesitated, fighting shame as she met the pleading in Ginny's brown eyes. "But - "

"But what?" she heard in her ear, and shivered.

Bill again.

 _But I'm not ready -_

 _But I didn't think -_

 _But I was so sure -_

"Go away," she whispered, forcing her eyes shut, and Ginny frowned, staring at her.

"You don't really want me to go, do you?" Bill asked her, the words seeping into the skin at the back of her neck. "Do you, Herm-"

" - _ione_ ," Ginny urged, taking hold of her shoulders and staring at her. "Are you okay?"

 _No, I'm not ready -_

 _I didn't think I would lose him -_

 _I was so sure he'd be fine -_

"Yeah," Hermione lied forcefully, but unlike the apparition of Luna, Bill did not leave when she blinked. "Let's - let's go in," she choked out, reaching blindly for the doorknob and stumbling into the room, hoping Bill wouldn't follow.

She came to a sudden halt as she transitioned from the Burrow's warm corridor to a cold, dimly lit space; it was a rectangular, low-ceilinged set of stone walls that had a certain numbness to it, and an inhumanity, as though it had never been built to serve warmth or life.

"Where are we?" she asked, and behind her, Ginny's voice dropped to a whisper.

"The Lestrange house," she supplied quietly. Hermione's breath snagged in her throat and she blinked, slowly adjusting to the dark. "The dungeons."

Hermione's mouth filled with bile.

"Is that - "

"Yes," Bill said in her ear. "That's me."

The scene before her was almost cinematically disturbing, entirely bereft of reality. It was another version of Ginny, dead-eyed and Imperiused, and another version of Bill, beaten and bloody, as he knelt at her feet; around them, a small crowd of Death Eaters - Hermione recognized Mulciber and the Lestrange brothers, though no Draco or Theo - formed a crescent of observation, predatorily looking on.

"Found one," the other Ginny said in a cold voice.

Beside her, the real Ginny - _her_ Ginny - shivered, and Hermione reached out, holding the other witch's fingers so tightly she was sure they both felt pain.

"You have," Voldemort murmured approvingly, nodding to her. "This is one of your brothers?"

"Bill," Imperiused Ginny supplied, her face devoid of expression. "The oldest."

"Ah," Voldemort agreed quietly. "Macnair's killer."

Bill glanced up, his blue eyes partially obscured by a gash across his face. "He killed my wife," he rasped flatly, and Voldemort looked unfazed, albeit unamused.

"I don't believe I asked you to speak," he commented, making a tiny motion with his hand that clearly served to rob Bill of his voice. "Good girl, Ginevra," he whispered, turning to stroke Ginny's hair with a clawed finger. "You've done brilliantly."

Ginny's nails dug into Hermione's palm.

"Well," Voldemort said, raising his wand. "It gives me great pleasure, then, William Weasley, to teach you a lesson in reprisal." Bill struggled momentarily, mouthing something to his sister; _Ginny,_ he was saying, _Ginny, I love you - I know this isn't you, please know how much I love you -_

"I know," Ginny whispered back to him, shaking beside Hermione. "I love you, too."

" _Avada Kedavra,_ " Voldemort said, the green light flashing, and Hermione tried to turn away, tried to hide, when she felt Bill's hands wrench her head forward, his voice in her ear.

"No," he said firmly, and she felt another tremor of shame, seeing that Ginny, too, had managed to keep her eyes on her brother. "Keep watching. _Keep watching -_ "

She did.

And then something went wrong.

The green light struck; but where Bill should have fallen, he remained, stricken but unharmed. Instead, it was Voldemort let out a scream, his chest convulsing as though something had fought its way out, prying itself loose. Beside him, the Imperiused Ginny shuddered, rocketing backwards as though she'd been struck in the same motion; and then both Ginny and Voldemort lay still on the floor, dropping in an unexpectedly synchronized motion.

"Ginny," Bill exhaled, reaching for her on the floor. Behind Hermione, the figment of Bill watched silently, his hand resting on Hermione's shoulder. "Ginny, come on," the memory of Bill whispered urgently to his sister, grabbing her hand as the other Death Eaters lurched to their Dark Lord's side. "Ginny, wake up, _we have to go_ \- "

Imperiused Ginny slowly sat up, glancing down in confusion as she turned her palm over, staring down at it.

"Ginny," Bill said, pulling her to her feet. "Come _on -_ "

Hermione looked down at Ginny's hand in hers, loosening her fingers to flip it over.

"I'm sorry," the Ginny beside her whispered, and Hermione looked down, her eyes tracing over the lightning scar that was now slashed across Ginny's palm. "I didn't know what it meant until now - I saw it, and I just - I didn't know, I couldn't remember, but then - "

"Ginevra," Voldemort said from afar, snapping them back to the memory as he forced himself up and raised an unsteady hand. "Ginevra, kill him!"

"No," Hermione gasped aloud, unconsciously digging her nails into Ginny's palm.

Across the room, Bill's eyes widened as Ginny raised her wand, his hands still gripping her shoulders as he tried to drag her to her feet. "No," he gasped, his blue eyes darting around the room and landing, panicked, on the door behind him as he stumbled towards it. "No, Ginny, _wait -_ "

" _Avada Kedavra,_ " the Imperiused Ginny Weasley said blankly, and then there was another flash of green; only it filled the whole room this time, blinding all of them.

"Are you sure," Hermione heard in her ear, "that you want me gone?"

 _No, I'm not ready -_

 _I didn't think I would lose you -_

 _I was so sure you'd be fine -_

"Bill," she begged, the name ripping itself from her lungs in what could have been a scream or a whisper, sight and sound dissolving to nothing in an exquisite burst of pain. " _Bill -_ "

But when she opened her eyes again, it was to Luna and Daphne, their faces staring worriedly down at where she once again lay on the bed in Draco's house.

In London; in reality; in a drastically altered present, with a now-contorted past.

"What happened?" Daphne asked worriedly, signs of wear beginning to show beneath her hazel eyes. "Are you okay?"

"He's gone," Hermione said numbly, her palm still warm from the pressure of Ginny's hand even as her blood ran cold. "He's gone."

* * *

Draco turned the possibility over in his mind, toying with it, feeling Smith's expectant intake of breath as fully and as sharply as if he'd conjured it in his own lungs.

"My goodness, Draco," Lord Voldemort commented as he stared, kinglike, cruelly indulgent from above as his patience visibly faded, twitching around his mouth. "Would you like a refresher on the spell?"

Draco shook himself, trying to focus. "I - " _Crucio,_ his mind snapped vehemently, as though his impulsive need to survive - the mechanism he'd learned from his father - could simply bully his tongue into compliance. "I - no, I just - "

Behind him, Theo was moving; he had obscured himself behind Draco, surreptitiously motioning with his wand.

"It's really rather simple, Draco," Lord Voldemort continued, a hint of warning chilling his tone this time as his fingers tapped insistently against the wood of his chair. "For example - "

It was quick; impossibly quick. One moment the Dark Lord was tapping, irritable, his fingers dancing across the arm of his chair -

And the next, a wave of motion had brought his wand even, calculated and smooth, with Smith's forehead, and then Smith was howling soundlessly, his chest caving in so sharply that Draco let out a strangled cry that he scarcely knew belonged to him, watching something - pain, power, magic, _magic has give and take,_ _it has give and it takes and it takes and it takes_ \- as it yanked the Snatcher towards the ground.

The Dark Lord, for his part, did not shift in countenance, staring blankly - mesmerised, as a child with a toy, or a cat with a mouse - as Smith shuddered out a silent gasp, the pain of it written as plainly in his features as if Lord Voldemort had taken it upon himself to undergo the scribing.

Then the Dark Lord turned his wand on Draco, half a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth before he slowly let his arm fall to his side.

"Your turn," Lord Voldemort invited coolly, gesturing to where Smith had fallen to the ground, the Snatcher's palms slipping against the stone floor as he struggled to take a breath.

The implication was clear. _Do it,_ the Dark Lord had said, _or suffer it._

Draco shuddered, his mother's voice in his head.

 _You have to mean it -_

Draco's fingers shook around his wand, still aimlessly pointed at where Smith's head had once been but where it now only hovered above his back, the other man waging a muted, corporeal war with each breath he took. Draco shifted slightly, readjusting, and directed his wand at Smith's head, trying to conjure the courage.

And it _was_ courage, wasn't it? The cruel kind. The cruelest, wherein someone had to lose; and it sat upon the vacancies of Draco's spine, lived in the space between his joints and sank, feasting on tendon and muscle and bone, into the measure of what he was.

He thought of Theo beside him; of what would happen to both of them if they failed.

 _Cursed from birth, and we taught ourselves to hide -_

He thought of Hermione; of what would happen if he didn't keep her secret, keep her _safe._

 _Maybe you'll find me -_

 _Maybe I'm made for you -_

It was one life, he reminded himself, watching the sweat pool at the back of Smith's neck. He wondered, in a weak attempt to coax himself, how much Smith truly understood of what was happening; but then he remembered that even animals know when they are being put down, and he forced the thought aside.

It was one life. One life for many. One man's pain in exchange for so many others - _he's gone, but you're still standing; he's gone, but you remain_ \- and wasn't it necessary? Wasn't it what needed to be done?

He felt the dull throb of his face; of the pain from only days ago, of slipping on the very same floor, uncertain whether he would stand.

Uncertain whether he would rise.

 _Do it, or suffer it -_

The scar on his abdomen throbbed; Smith's handiwork, he remembered, though it was only one thing among many that the man before him wouldn't recognize.

 _One life for many -_

Draco's head spun; his mouth soured.

 _You have to mean it,_ Narcissa whispered.

 _Cursed from birth,_ Theo told him, his green eyes sad and haunted.

 _You cannot imagine the consequences,_ Lucius had said, and he had been right.

"Draco," the Dark Lord said warningly, and the others began to twitch uneasily, smelling trouble in the air; smelling blood.

 _You have to mean it -_

 _You have to mean it -_

 _YOU HAVE TO MEAN IT -_

Draco looked up, meeting their many hungry stares.

"I can't," he said, and for the first time that night, his voice did not shake. "I can't."

 _But he found that he himself was nothing, and it made him feeble, and he saw himself a coward -_

It had been so little time since his last punishment at the Dark Lord's hand that the pain, quick and unavoidable as ever, felt like a memory, a reopening of old wounds; a tender reawakening that made him want to laugh, the choked-back taste of his own mettle searing against the bloodied span of his tongue.

Draco swayed on his feet, lurching forward, catching his father's eye and thinking, deliriously, that he had seen a mirror, seen a ghost; seen _himself,_ the stars he'd changed, and he raised a hand weakly, thinking delusionally to wave.

 _I was a man who ran,_ he thought, forcing space between his fingers as though he could take hold of the very air and hold himself upright. _I was a man who ran, but no more -_

 _A reluctant hero,_ Hermione whispered in his mind, _is a hero still -_

And for once, he understood.

"You can't?" the Dark Lord echoed, his mouth set in a grim, taunting line as his spell forced Draco to his knees, his wand rolling from his hands to trap itself beneath his overlord's foot. "Or you won't?"

 _To encounter the darkness head on - to know danger, but not defeat - it would be to triumph over darkness, and to meet his fate, fearless and cool, his destiny held tight in his fist -_

Draco raised his head, spitting blood and smiling.

"I won't," he said bitterly, sealing his fate.

 _\- it would be to redraw the stars by which he lived._

* * *

"She has a scar," Hermione told Harry, drawing him over to where Luna had set Ginny's unconscious body on the bed and picking up Ginny's right hand, showing him the mark that had been left by Voldemort's faulty _Avada._ "His soul might be so fractured that it spontaneously transferred to another living thing in the room," she guessed, shaking her head. "Which, if that's true, has to be why he doesn't cast his own killing curses anymore."

She skirted Bill's continuing presence in the room to glance questioningly at Daphne, who nodded in confirmation. "The timing is right," Daphne agreed. "It certainly _could_ explain it."

Luna, Hermione noted, said nothing, her gaze silently following the edges of Ginny's sleeping face.

"But do you really think he's just . . . falling apart?" Harry asked, staring in disbelief at the scar on Ginny's palm, the mark of which would have paired faultlessly with the one that had been so long splintered across his forehead. "Is that - even _possible_?"

Hermione raised her hands helplessly. "Maybe," she permitted. "I don't know how, or why, but if the signs are any indication - "

"Then she must be a horcrux," Harry agreed, nodding grimly. "There's no other way to explain the connection."

"Maybe you should talk to her," Daphne suggested to him, brushing a hair wearily from her eyes. Her phoenix had transferred closer to her chest, a wing curled around her shoulder as the rest of it obscured itself from view. "I don't know what it means to be a horcrux, but if there's something she'll need to do - "

Daphne trailed off, turning uncertainly to Hermione, who felt her own cheeks pale. "Harry," Hermione said nervously. "If Ginny's a horcrux, then she'll have to - "

She met Bill's eye across the room, the sentence turning bitter on her tongue. _She'll have to die,_ she tried desperately not to say, though the rest of the room seemed to hear the implication.

"She knows," Luna said softly, glancing over at Harry. "She knows."

Bill - the spectral iteration of him - closed his eyes for a moment, silently pained; beside Hermione, Harry shook his head, staring down at Ginny's face in a mix of misery and anguish.

"I spent my whole life being groomed for the moment I'd have to sacrifice myself," he murmured. "And I _did_ , I fucking _died,_ and now this is - " he broke off, clenching a fist. "What the fuck was it all for?" he demanded, his mouth twisted in vehemence. "What was any of it _for_?"

"Harry," Hermione sighed, reaching for him. "You were always meant to do more than just _die,_ there was always more to it than that - "

"Not really," he corrected her angrily. "Anything else I managed to do was only by circumstance - by _luck_. I was always supposed to die, to _save_ everyone, but instead - " he cut off again, gritting his teeth. "I was the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, and I did everything I was asked, but - " he sputtered. "But all of it is absolute bloody fucking _rubbish_ if it just keeps happening to people I love, to people I _care about_ -"

He was cut off by his own tormented grunt of surprise as Luna unceremoniously yanked him into her arms, wrapping her arms fiercely around his neck and resting her head against his shoulder in what was the first time that Hermione had seen them touch since Luna's return. Harry, caught mid-rant, stiffened momentarily, taken aback; and then his expression softened, and the placement of his arms shifted, and then he was holding Luna close, his hands rising to drift helplessly through the blonde waves of her hair.

"I always told you," she whispered to him, "you were always more than that."

Harry's chin dropped, resting on the top of her head, and Daphne and Hermione exchanged a glance, moving to excuse themselves from the room; but just as they took a step the door burst open, revealing Viktor and Cormac in the frame.

"Can I see her?" Cormac asked, his eyes searching the room. "Can I speak to her yet?"

"I - I think so," Hermione agreed, suddenly deeply uncomfortable as Viktor's eyes narrowed, arriving at where Harry and Luna were still locked in each other's arms. "I don't see why not, although I think Harry was, um," she hesitated. "About to talk to her about something - "

Luna slipped out of Harry's arms, meeting Viktor's gaze as it fell on hers and then angling herself at Cormac.

"Not yet," she said, her voice carrying a weighted sadness that made Hermione long, unexpectedly, for her prior dottiness. "She can't yet."

"Why not?" Cormac demanded, taking a brusque step forward. "If you're keeping me from her, I swear to Godric I'll - "

" _Fuck,_ " Harry spat through his teeth, suddenly doubling over as Cormac glared at him.

"Stop being so dramatic, Potter," he snapped, but Harry wasn't listening, holding his hand out and staring down at his arm, watching something begin to appear across the span of it.

"Harry," Hermione said anxiously, gripping his shoulder and staring down at where blood was starting to break the skin, trickling from a hastily scrawled line. "What's happening?"

Harry blinked, staring at the letters as they appeared one by one, carving themselves into the flesh of his arm as if an invisible hand had taken a knife to his skin.

 _H_

 _E_

 _L_

 _P_

"Nott's in trouble," he said suddenly, taking his wand in hand and glancing around the room. "I need my cloak, and I'll need you to - to keep an eye on the Floo entrances, just in case - Daphne," he said, turning to her. "Are you okay to do that?" She nodded in confusion, frowning. "You take the one in the sitting room, and Hermione can take the one in the kitchen, and - "

"Wait, _Harry,_ " Hermione interrupted, half-chasing him as he tore through the hall, Daphne on his heels to vanish quickly down the stairs. "Harry, if it's Theo, that means - "

Draco.

 _Come back to me safe, come back to me whole -_

"Harry," she said fearfully, the name leaving her voice in a gasp, and he turned, catching her face between his palms.

"I won't let him die," he promised her fiercely, his green eyes flashing. "I promise you."

"But - "

She reached out but Harry was gone - disappearing in a rush of thundering footsteps and then a shout of " _Lestrange Manor_ " - leaving her alone to force herself down the stairs, reminding herself that Harry needed her; that he'd left instructions and that all she could do was protect him, keep him safe, do as he'd told her, as she'd always done.

She flew down the stairs and Bill haunted in after her, like a ghost.

"Go away," she hissed under her breath. "You're gone."

 _He's gone, he's gone -_

Like so many of the others.

"You haven't said goodbye," Bill reminded her, reaching out a hand to stroke her cheek, like always. "You wouldn't let me leave without one, would you?"

"I already said goodbye," Hermione snapped, more gruffly than she felt. "Years ago."

 _Let me keep my peace,_ she wanted to beg, _let me hold on -_

"No, actually, you didn't," Bill told her firmly, stepping behind her to circle his arms around her ribs. "You're not very lucky with goodbyes, are you, Hermione?"

Hermione forced her eyes shut, and then reopened them, aiming her wand at the Floo.

"Go away," she forced out flatly. "I'm supposed to be protecting us."

"If he doesn't return," Bill whispered. "What will you do? Will you love again?" he taunted, tutting softly in her ear. "Will you find someone to replace him? Someone else broken and torn for you to fix?" He leaned in, his voice low and mean. "Someone else to share your night?"

"That's not fair," she said, hoping for certainty and arriving at something like a sulk, her tone pitched with childish opposition. "It's not - he isn't - "

But he wasn't listening.

"Pretty hair," Bill commented tangentially, his stare roving softly over the newly darkened color before falling on her face, tracing over it. "But your eyes are what make you, you know," he said quietly, brushing her chin with his thumb. "You can try to look different, but the soul of you is in there," he said, his eyes searching hers, "glowing in the dark."

 _Dark,_ she thought. _It is so horribly dark_ -

She felt Draco's absence, then, the vacancy of his light; felt helpless, drowning, in the uncertainty of whether he would suffer, of whether she had led him there - like Harry, like Ron, like Bill - something else dear to her, close, left to be captured.

 _It is so horribly dark -_

"Go," she whispered, not looking up. "Go, _please -_ "

"Hermione," Luna said behind her, and she turned through a blur of hard-fought tears, relieved to see that the vision of Bill had finally obeyed. "Are you okay?"

She opened her mouth to lie, but found it too brittle on her tongue, feeling it crumble.

"No," Hermione confessed miserably, sinking to the floor. "No, I'm not."

Luna sat gingerly beside her, looking wistfully into the vacant Floo.

"I know I'm not your favorite person," Luna began, and Hermione interrupted with a shake of her head, long past denial.

"I'm seeing him," she whispered, hoping Luna would understand. "Bill. I see him, and he's - he's talking to me."

Luna, gratifyingly, only nodded. "What's he saying?" she asked gently.

"I - " _Terrible things_. "Nothing, but - "

"Maybe you just need closure," Luna suggested. "Maybe he appears because you haven't forgiven yourself."

"Forgiven myself?" Hermione echoed. "But I - "

"Maybe," Luna said slowly, "you thought it was easier not to look for him. Because then," she continued, treading carefully, "he couldn't hurt you by leaving, or by virtue of you adding him to your column of losses."

 _Am I a notch in your column of losses?_

"How did you - " Hermione stammered, awash in bemusement. "But how could you have known - "

"Granger," Pansy said, materializing in the door to the kitchen with a puzzled frown. "Who are you talking to?"

Hermione froze, stunned.

"I'm - " she broke off, cursing inwardly. "I'm alone," she realized, turning to Luna and feeling the blood drain from her face. "Aren't I?"

"Yes," Pansy confirmed, scanning the kitchen. "Did you think there was someone there?"

Hermione hesitated, horrified, as the Luna-who-was-not-Luna shrugged innocently, holding her hands aloft. "We see what we want to see, Hermione," she murmured, "and we hear what we need to hear."

"Granger?" Pansy asked again, taking another step towards her and glancing with confusion at the spot where Luna was standing, and where Hermione was openly staring. "Are you okay?"

 _No,_ Hermione thought, _no, I'm not -_

"No," Luna agreed, sighing with hazy regret. "You really aren't."

"I need help," Hermione rasped, and Pansy's brow furrowed, her expression softening slightly just as they were interrupted by a sound upstairs.

* * *

"Lucius," Lord Voldemort invited, sparing a moment's reprieve to beckon behind him as Draco's vision swam; he found himself on his knees before the Dark Lord again, for what he assumed would be the last time. "Perhaps you should be the one to do the honors, don't you think?"

 _No,_ Draco thought with panic, blinking back sweat and pain. _No -_

 _What about Lucius?_ Theo had asked Potter, moments before they'd left. _What does your Imperius have him doing?_

 _Going about his usual business,_ Potter had replied, shrugging.

 _Usual business?_ Draco had asked, ominously skeptical. _That's it?_

 _Oh,_ Potter replied, _except for one thing -_

"Lucius," Lord Voldemort spat furiously. " _Kill him,_ Lucius!"

 _\- he won't hurt you,_ Potter assured them. _Not even if he's forced._

"Fuck," Theo exhaled, yanking Draco up and back. "He knows - come on, we have to get out of here - "

The Dark Lord let out a furious scream, turning his wand on Draco and punctuating each word with a thrash of pain. "You _traitor,_ " he snarled, as Draco stumbled forward. "You thought you could fool Lord Voldemort? Nagini," he commanded shrilly, " _kill_."

Draco blinked, forcing his vision to clear, and scrambled away; but the snake hadn't been set on him. He watched, incoherent ramblings of opposition rising to his throat as his father suddenly dropped to the ground, the others leaping back as the once proud Lucius Malfoy abruptly crumbled, falling like the puppet Draco had accused him of being.

By the time the violence of the Dark Lord's _Crucio_ had returned, forcing Draco to his hands and knees, he was fully disoriented, scarcely able to focus on where floor and ceiling differed, half mumbling his father's name on his lips.

"Go," he slurred, hoping Theo would somehow hear him. "Just go - "

"Fuck off, Draco," Theo hissed in his ear, crouching beside him to throw a blinding _Protego_ around them. "Just hold on, you fucking idiot - he's not going to cast the curse himself, so if we can just - "

Draco blinked, shuddering through another convulsion of pain. "But - you - _get out_ \- "

"Draco, what the fuck did you think 'until we die' meant?" Theo growled in his ear, the _Protego_ puncturing slightly as the others must have begun hailing curses down on them. "Just - hold on, or I swear to fucking Salazar - "

"Hold on," Draco heard in his ear; a new voice.

Not new.

"Potter," he croaked. "You fucking _hero_ \- "

Draco stumbled blindly, yanked around in darkness; abandoned, rendered unseeing and small without the light he'd grown accustomed to bearing; and he felt himself jostled roughly for what felt to him to be an eternity, imprisoned by the burden of his fear.

But in his panic he managed to fall upon some source, some glimmer of promise, and he collapsed wearily in its wake; a lurch, a pause - " _I'M COMING FOR YOU, TOM!"_ \- and then suddenly Draco was enveloped in warmth, and he awoke with his gaze fixed upon a set of golden marvels above him, like a better sky, and they seemed for a moment to give him courage, and to assuage his terror.

 _A boy so steeped in sun_ , she murmured, reaching out for his hand, and only then did he realize that she was the brilliant light upon which he gazed. _I will be your eyes in the darkness, and teach you to see._

* * *

Hermione flew to his side as Harry came through the Floo, one arm firmly wrapped around Theo, who held Zacharias, as he kept one arm under Draco, whose head lolled unconsciously to the side.

"Draco," she gasped, falling with him to the floor as Harry let go, grabbing Theo's shoulder.

"Are you okay?" Harry demanded, giving him a searching glance, and Theo nodded. "Watch the Floo entrances, make sure nobody followed - "

"Close them," Theo cut in instantly, his gaze darting sideways as Hermione frantically inspected Draco, looking for wounds.

"How?" Harry asked, blinking in panic, and Theo made a hissing sound of irritation; of impatience that slipped through his teeth.

"I don't know, fucking just - _will_ them shut," he snapped. "This house gave you a goddamn bedroom, it can probably fucking - "

He broke off as the Floo suddenly sealed, blending into the wall.

" - protect us," Theo finished, staring at it, and Harry shook himself with a nod, racing downstairs to check the kitchen.

"What happened?" Hermione asked, shifting over as Theo dropped to his knees beside Draco, checking his pulse. "Is he - what did you - "

"We're officially fucked," Theo informed her, letting out an incongruous sigh of relief as he nodded, indicating Draco's pulse was steady. "No more hiding. He knows," he clarified grimly, and Hermione bit her lip. "He knows everything, or if he doesn't yet, he will soon - PANSY," he shouted, and she shuffled towards him. "Get Blaise out of Hogwarts," Theo instructed firmly. " _Now_."

Pansy blinked. "But - bring him here?"

"Yes," Theo said. "They'll be coming for him if you don't - "

Pansy nodded, quickly sprinting from the room. "I'll have Paul do it - _PAUL_ ," she yelled sharply, already to the doorway by the time the elf materialized with a pop. "I need you to get to Hogwarts - "

"Blaise?" Hermione asked nervously, her hands curled around Draco's. "You-Know-Who knows about - "

"Everything," Theo confirmed grimly. "Well, he probably still believes you're dead," he conceded, his eyes glued to Draco's face as he glowered miserably. "So you don't have to wor- "

"Theo, if I thought I could spare him one second of this, I'd have happily died a long time ago," she snapped, glaring brusquely at him. "Don't take this out on me."

Theo looked for a moment like he would argue, and then suddenly withered, bending his head in an unexpected offering of bereavement.

"I just can't watch it anymore," he muttered, his voice breaking; the words only for her to hear. "I can't see him like this anymore, I can't - I fucking _can't_ \- "

"Theo," Hermione said, reaching over to grip his wrist. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry - "

"It's over now," they heard behind them, and they both turned, facing Harry. "Neither of you need to go through this again. The double agent stuff," Harry clarified, grimacing as he gestured between Theo and Draco. "Never leads to anything good. Better to be a rebel," he joked, his mouth twitching with what might have been a smile.

Theo snorted exhaustedly, a weak attempt at a laugh. "We'll need to operate outside the law now," he commented. "We'll need new wands, new plans - "

"Lucky we have some experience there," Harry sighed, crouching beside Theo and reaching out to grip Hermione's shoulder. "Is he okay?" he asked, jutting his chin out to reference Draco. "Will he be?"

She looked down, watching the glimmer of light from his edges; the day boy, so steeped in sun.

"Yes," Hermione whispered, hearing his voice in her mind.

 _I'm not finished with you -_

 _I'll never be finished with you -_

 _Inevitability, and punishment -_

"There's no more hiding," Hermione forced out, shaking herself and turning questioningly to Theo. "No more hiding."

He nodded, glancing between her and Harry before staring down at Draco's face.

"No more hiding," Theo agreed, his fingers tightening around Draco's wrist. "It's time to bring back the Order."

* * *

He caught the golden sheen of her eyes as he drifted back to consciousness.

"I fucked up," he whispered, and she pressed a finger to his lips, shaking her head.

"There once was a king," she told him. "A rightful heir."

"Fucking Potter," he sighed, but he caught a glimpse of her hesitant smile.

"He was not born to live a man's life, but to be the stuff of future memory," she continued. "He possessed a circle of knights, loyal to him, and to his realm, and so the fellowship he created was a brief beginning. A fair time, never to be forgotten." She paused, taking a deep breath. "And because it will never be forgotten," she coaxed him, smoothing his hair back from his face, "that fair time may come again."

He leaned towards her, closing his eyes.

"And so the king must once more ride with his knights to defend what was, and to dream," she said softly. "To dream of what could be. To inspire," she murmured, and he opened his eyes to look at her, "so that one day, he might exist again."

"You've told this one," he reminded her hoarsely, but she shook her head.

"I told you about the dream," she permitted, something sad edging its way into her voice, "but I never told you about the return."

"The return," Draco echoed, staring at her. "The king's return?"

"The king," she agreed, "and his knights, and his cause." She reached out, brushing her thumb over his lips. "There was a prophecy," she told him. "Of a king who was, and a king who would be, who stood for righteousness, and who would triumph over might with loyalty. With love," she murmured, "and fealty."

He fought the comforting lure of her eyes, letting out a quiet groan.

"You want me to be one of Potter's knights," Draco commented, wincing as he tried to shake his head. "You're relentless, Granger."

She smiled a wistful smile, of heartache and loss; of futures and pasts.

"Tell me about the night girl," Draco pleaded with her, taking her face in his palms and holding it, fragilely, between his fingers. "Tell me about her."

She leaned into his touch, her eyes closing momentarily. "For what force was night, and what blessing was day," she whispered, "and what does it matter, when girl and boy are joined? For day or night may pass," she mused softly, gently threading her fingers through his, "and both may come to dust; but _this_ \- "

She stopped, leaning forward, and brushed her lips against his. "But this, she knew," she murmured, "would triumph."

He slid his hand down, capturing her pulse between his fingers as he tucked a curl behind her ear.

 _If you find yourself wanting of meaning -_

"I would do anything," he said, the words as low and sanctified as a prayer, "to save your heart."

 _You have to mean it -_

"You won't have to," she said. "I'm not leaving your side."

 _You have to mean it -_

"If you lose, I lose," Draco promised.

 _You have to mean it -_

"We never lose," she told him, her eyes like a better sky. "Because we always fucking rise."

* * *

 **a/n:** This story, as you may have noticed, is another reference to Arthurian legend. Dedicated to the FFN guest reviewer who had to pee (because at times like these, I am feeling whimsical) and to In Dreams, for the shower of inspiration (which I hope materialized in this chapter).


	28. The Three Brothers

**Chapter 28: The Three Brothers**

* * *

 _ **2002**_

* * *

"Luna," Hermione said flatly, crossing her arms over her chest. "This is a terrible idea."

Luna swiveled away from Harry to face Hermione, her expression unchanging.

"Oh, but it really isn't, is it?" Luna asked, and her dreamy eyes, normally so wide and vacant, went sharp and hungry, flooded with focus; with intention. "After all, what do you have to lose, Hermione? Only me," she remarked, the words unfailingly sing-song and buoyant despite the accusation implied.

Hermione gritted her teeth in frustration. "No," she warned. "Don't do that, Luna. Don't act like I don't care."

 _It's not fair,_ she didn't say, _it's not fair that you can be so cavalier -_

"You want to keep people safe," Luna returned, unfazed. "But you _can't_ , Hermione. At least this way we take control, and - "

"You sacrificing yourself is not _taking control_ ," Hermione growled, bristling. "This is precisely the kind of thing you'd never allow Harry to do!"

"Yes, well, I'm rather not Harry," Luna said, as though Hermione had needed reminding. "It's not my job to inspire people, or to intimidate them, either. The Death Eaters find me harmless, Hermione, and I welcome their misconception." She paused, her gaze flicking to Harry's, and then turned back to Hermione. "I shouldn't even be alive," Luna continued, with such a vacant apathy that it momentarily sent Hermione reeling. "I'm only alive thanks to Harry, and if he doesn't save me this time, than I've still lived long past m- "

"Stop it," Harry said gruffly, reaching out to close his hand around Luna's arm as Hermione bit her tongue, agitated. "Stop, Luna. I'll save you every fucking time, I promise you - "

"Maybe you will," Luna permitted, shrugging, "and maybe you won't. I'm just saying that if you look at my life from that perspective, then - "

"But this isn't just about _you_ , Luna!" Hermione erupted, stepping towards her, and behind them, Bill sighed.

"Hermione," he murmured warningly, reaching for her, but she ignored him.

"You're asking us to sacrifice what little safety we have!" Hermione shouted at Luna, shrugging herself from Bill's reach as he tried to hold her back. "You don't seem to realize that every time you put yourself in danger, _we're_ the ones who have to risk our safety to save _you_ , and - "

"Do you really think this is what safety feels like, Hermione?" Luna interrupted, and then her pale grey eyes grew wide, and soft, and filled with latent sorrow. "Has it really been that long?"

Hermione blinked, startled by the shift in mood; in her momentary pause, Bill's arms wrapped around her waist.

"We're safe here," Hermione said mechanically; a mantra she scarcely realized she'd been repeating to herself for months. "We - this is _home_ ," she stammered, feeling a numbness wash over her, even with Bill's chin digging in against her shoulder. "We made this our _home_ , and - "

"Snatchers have found us before," Harry reminded her, clearing his throat softly, and behind him George and Neville nodded their agreement. "They know we're here, Hermione. It's only a matter of time before they raid our camp."

"Impossible," Hermione said hoarsely, and Bill's grip on her tightened; either comfort or warning. "I used every concealment spell in existence, and - "

"Yes," Harry confirmed gently. "Yes, you did, and they'll hold for a while, but not much longer. They know we're here, Hermione," he told her again, stepping towards her. "We're not safe."

"Yes we are," Hermione insisted. "We - we just have to - "

"You saw what they did to Lee," George said, swallowing. "You saw, Hermione."

"Things are getting worse," Neville contributed, his voice no less troubled. "The Snatchers, they're so much worse than the Death Eaters. They're more motivated," he added, his expression darkening. "Whatever You-Know-Who is giving them, they're taking matters into their own hands."

"Yes, but - "

"This is more than just Death Eaters now," Harry said furiously. "This is the _world_. This is what _his_ world looks like, Hermione," he added, a tremor at the edge of his voice. "He's made this world the worst possible version of itself, and it has to stop - it has to fucking _stop -_ "

"He'll know Harry will come after me," Luna cut in, still staring unnervingly at Hermione as she reached for Harry, slipping her hand comfortingly in his. "If I let them catch me, then they'll tell You-Know-Who, and he'll expect it to be like it was before. He'll use me to try to trap Harry, and we can set a trap for him instead."

It all seemed like such an impossible gamble, and with such astronomical odds.

One shot, and all contingent on the behaviors of a _madman_ -

"What if he doesn't?" Hermione demanded. "What if he doesn't fall for it, and simply kills you on the spot?"

"He won't," Bill said, shaking his head, and Luna nodded her agreement.

"I'm quite certain that You-Know-Who hasn't slept well since the day Harry came back," Luna told her quietly. "He'll have replayed it all in pieces, relived it on a constant loop - his failures, you know," she murmured thoughtfully, "and why he wasn't able to stop them - "

"How could you _possibly_ know that?" Hermione pressed, and Luna's lips twitched, catching around words Hermione knew the moment she saw them enter Luna's brain that she wouldn't much enjoy hearing.

"Wouldn't you, Hermione?" Luna asked her. "You're brilliant. Logical. Afraid of your own failure," she commented impassively, and Hermione flinched, both at the comparison and the reminder. "Wouldn't you do the same?"

Hermione hesitated. "You-Know-Who and I are not the _same_ ," she growled instead, but Luna shrugged, continuing.

"He'll know Harry won't be far behind," Luna told her. "He'll know because it will feel like history repeating itself, and he will fear it. He'll _fear_ it," she repeated emphatically, "and it will give him a moment of weakness, and that will give us the opening we need."

Luna turned, looking to Harry. "It's a good idea," she said, appealing directly to him this time, her voice as hushed and melodic as ever. "It's a good idea, Harry, and I know it's risky, but it's worth it, and - "

Hermione watched as Harry cut Luna off, slipping his hand around the line of her jaw and pulling her towards him, kissing her slowly. Luna shut her eyes, her hand floating up to spread her fingers across his, and when they opened again - when she and Harry had parted, and a breath of faultless valor had been shared between them - her gaze was fixed, rigid, unbending.

"We have to start planning," Harry murmured to her, and Luna nodded, and as everything Hermione valued seemed to derail itself from sanity, Bill pulled her back, half-dragging her outside the tent before she could open her mouth.

"You have to stop this," Hermione hissed through her teeth at him, stumbling to a halt against him as he stopped outside the entrance. "This is _crazy_ , Bill, and Harry'll listen to you - they _all_ will, if you would just - "

"You're afraid," Bill said flatly. "You're afraid, and you should be. People will die."

"I know that, and that's - "

"But that doesn't mean that it can't work," Bill continued, taking her face in his hands. "We lose people all the time, Hermione. They have us trapped in the tiny, shadowed corner of a forest, and that's no life for us - for _any_ of us." He paused, grimacing. "This is not _life_ , Hermione - "

"So that's it?" she asked him wildly. "You can't stand life in a tent, so we all die? You can't stand life with _me_ ," she realized hysterically, struggling for breath as her words spilled out unfiltered. "This isn't the life you were promised, Bill - not the life you _wanted_ \- so better that you die by You-Know-Who's hand? Is that it?"

"Stop," he said, his grip tightening. "You know that's not it."

"IT IS," Hermione shouted at him, gasping, and he released her to let her sink to the ground, her shoulders haking. "This may not be enough life for you, Bill Weasley, but I'm not ready - " she cut off, drawing a sharp breath, and let it escape in a burst of desperation. "I'm not _ready_ , Bill, I'm not ready to lose everything - "

He bent, kneeling before her, and yanked her against his chest; this, she knew, was less comforting than it was sedating, and after a few moments of struggle she went limp in his arms, her ribs heaving as she shook with soundless sobs.

"You want me to be more than I am," Bill said eventually, speaking in her ear. "I'm not."

She said nothing, her breaths still convulsing in her mouth.

"If there is a chance to win, Hermione, we have to take it. We have a slim advantage here, _for once_ , and we have to take it - "

"No," she forced out, the sound muffled in his shirt. "No - _no_ \- "

"This isn't about us," he told her, one arm tightening around her as he reached up with the other, tangling his fingers in her hair. He gripped her so relentlessly it hurt and she rejoiced in the pain; in her ability to still _feel_. "I want you, Hermione," he said. "I want a life with you, I do - but not this one." He pressed his lips to her cheek, shaking his head. "Not this one."

"I'm," she began, and swallowed. "I'm not - "

"No, you're not Fleur," he confirmed, and she shut her eyes, enduring the sting of it. "You're not her. You're you. You're _you_ ," he repeated fiercely, "and if things were different, you could be enough, but not like this."

 _It was funny_ , she thought, _and dizzying_ , that such a small offering - the scraps of someone else's life - might serve to somehow replenish the air in her lungs. She took a breath, inhaling with a stuttered drag, and Bill relaxed his grip on her slightly, his hand curving around the back of her neck.

"Learn from this," he said in her ear. "Learn."

 _Learn what?_ she thought, but didn't speak, feeling his lips against the side of her neck and swallowing instead; letting misery manifest in a shudder.

"Know your enemy," Bill said, drowning out her silence. "Know that they have no mercy, and make it their weakness. Watch them try to destroy her," he added, jutting his chin towards the tent where Luna and Harry were surely plotting, "and cut them all down while they try. Count on cruel men to be cruel, and arrogant men to be arrogant, and use it to make their end."

 _Logic,_ Hermione recognized, and let the thought of it steady her.

She took a breath; another.

In; out.

"Bill," she whispered, and he pulled away, sweeping his thumb beneath her eyes and drawing her up, dragging them both slowly to their feet as she imagined herself hitting the ground, the earth hollowed out beneath her; brought to the lowest of depths.

She took a breath, and then another.

In first; a pause, and then out.

"What about good men, Bill?" she asked him eventually, looking up to meet his eye. _Count on cruel men to be cruel,_ she heard on repeat, his voice pulsing in time with her blood, _and arrogant men to be arrogant._ "What can I count on good men for?"

Bill grimaced.

"Pain," he said, and then he took a step back, and another, until he had finally disappeared inside the tent.

* * *

 _ **2005 (Present)**_

* * *

 _If you lose_ , Draco said, _I lose_ , and she wanted desperately to believe him.

"We never lose," she whispered back, the words twisting in her head; morphing, contorting, distorting themselves like snakes until they became _we cannot lose,_ _we can't,_ and _if I lost you, I would break -_

Draco, as if he would sense the mutation in the air between them, reached out for her, revering her face in his hands.

She closed her eyes, existing in present and future; in reality and myth; and then it seemed, for a time, that they stood in the midst of an unknown land, neither of them able to move a step; each supported only by the weakness of the other; each ready to fall if the other were to collapse -

 _But where weakness was balanced, so, too, was strength, and after a time, the day boy was revived -_

 _And in the promise of the night girl's tenacity, he grew brighter in his lightness -_

Devastation flickered in the space between them, and then flamed to something new, to something different; to _please_ and _you_ and _yes, this, us_ and then, like transfiguration - like magic - they were both lit anew; reborn, rebuilt, replenished.

"I'm sorry if I've failed you," Draco said quietly, and she leaned into him so naturally she scarcely felt them join. Hip to hip; chest to chest; nose to nose; a steady synchronicity until the words dusted themselves over her lips, rising through her like the dawn. "A reluctant hero," he recited, unable to meet her eye, and she slid her hand down the expanse of his bruised and battered ribs, floating over the bones of him, the pieces and the shards.

"A hero still," she reminded him. "And you never failed me."

He took a breath; let it out.

"I did," he argued. "I would have. I might have - "

She shook her head.

"You didn't," she reminded him, and he inhaled it like the words could resurrect the dead, her nails digging into his skin; and she reveled in it, in his _existence_ , in the way he was real, he was real, _he was real_ -

He was real, and if she suffered, he would suffer too; and she felt it, the pressure of his breath against her lips; the pain that was as much hers as it was his.

"You didn't fail me," she whispered. "I failed you."

He closed his eyes. "Hermione - "

"You don't know everything," she told him, and he looked like he might argue but she shoved him back, almost brutally; the pain showed on his face, but she needed to do it, needed him to _know_ , to see her for her weakness; to not mistake the toughness of her scars for the fragility of her soul. "You don't know everything I've done," she said again, from above him this time, her hands braced against his shoulders. "I didn't let you."

He gritted his teeth, holding tight to her waist; his touch stung, and she basked in it; in the pain of it.

"When," he said, the words slipping through his lips, "will we stop?"

For a moment, her heart stopped; crashed, violently, and faltered, falling forward, hands braced.

"Stop," she whispered hoarsely, shifting against him, her palms slipping down the contours of his bare chest. "You want us to stop?"

He shook his head, exacting the motion with difficulty as her fingers traveled lower, down and further, his stomach going concave as he sucked in another breath. "Stop lying," he said, exhaling it; forcing it out. "Stop - " a swallow, another sharp breath. "Stop being _afraid_ \- "

She leaned forward, her hair falling around them and bathing them in something neither dark nor light; trapping them within confines, the sharedness of their sight.

His fingers dug into her thigh; _I won't let go -_

She drew her thumb across his lip; _whatever comes -_

His lips brushed against her neck; _I'll make you whole -_

She slid her hips against his; _I'll belong to you -_

"You should sleep," she whispered to him, but he shook his head, sitting up; he pulled her against him, lifted her up and slid her back against him, filling her in a motion that drew the air from both their lungs. "You should rest," she said again, but she let her head fall back, the curtain of her hair cascading instead down her spine and belying the words that dripped helplessly from her lips. "You should _heal_ \- "

"I am," he murmured, his muscles tensing as she eased herself along the length of him, the heights and depths of him, his head resting against her shoulder as her hands drifted to the back of his neck. "Want you," he muttered into her skin, the words so carefully buried against her she wondered if she'd imagined them.

"Anything," he whispered, "anything for you - "

He was breathing hard, taking her hair in both his hands and gripping tightly, ardently, fearfully, and she was caught in the gasp from his lips, the burn from his lungs. They mirrored motions, traded sighs, and she filled the yawning, gaping pieces of her soul with the jagged shards of him; _pieces made to fit_ -

She felt his name fall from her lips, torn from her mouth, and he held her tighter; and it was the way he held her, she thought. That was _it,_ and it was _everything._ Touch as she'd known it had been fleeting, had been delicate, had come and then all too quickly gone, but it wasn't that way with him; for him it was _can't let go, won't, will never,_ as though the earth might fall from its axis, might hurtle aimlessly through space; that a Dark Lord may wrest itself between them and still his grip would never falter, never fail, and nothing - _nothing, never -_ would spare her the defiant pressure of his hold.

 _If you lose, I lose -_

 _Inevitability, and punishment -_

 _Where would you be, a step back?_

 _Here,_ she thought desperately, _and sooner -_

"Don't let go," she whispered, her breaths coming in pants, and he shook his head with violence; with a certainty that shook them both.

"Never," he choked out. "Never."

 _What about good men? What can I count on them for?_

 _Pain,_ she heard, and felt it, and knew it to be true -

But _this_ , at least, was pain in blissful doses; in savage euphoria. It was the brutal weight of longing, and it _hurt_ , and she rejoiced in its hurting; in the way she could feel it still.

It settled calmly, washed over them like a wave, and if pressed a thousand ways a thousand times she still wouldn't know how they returned, how they settled back to _here_ and _now_ ; how they slid back to lying side by side, sheets tangled around them, or how she brought his head against her chest.

How he gradually fell asleep, holding her fingers against the solemn thudding of his heart.

She didn't sleep; _couldn't_. The blood in his veins was poetry, never a guarantee, and so she listened to the verses; memorized the cadence in his bones.

It was inevitability, and it was punishment, and the longer she lay beside him, the more she imagined what had been done to cause the marks scattered across him. Each one was a mystery; the cruelest kind, too, wherein she was forced to wonder whether even the darkest corners of her morbid imagination were better or worse than the man whose wand had brought Draco to his bloodied knees.

She tried to stay with him, but the reminder of what he'd endured - the residual suffering that had lulled him to sleep, and kept him twitching in her arms - kept her awake. When she realized sleep would not be coming she shifted to settle him in the blankets, brushing her lips against his forehead before resuming an acceptable state of dress and slipping out the door.

She paused at the base of the staircase, hearing voices from Draco's study.

"I'll go with Lovegood," a man said. A new voice, though vaguely familiar, which Hermione assumed must have been Blaise. "Where is she?"

"With Ginny." A hard voice; a _hardened_ one. Cormac. "Lovegood hasn't left her side. Won't let me see her," he added, with an audible layer of misery. "So _there's_ fucking _that_ ," he concluded bitterly, before evidently rising to his feet.

Hermione ducked back in the shadows as she watched him leave the room, watching him head towards the kitchen.

A third voice; another new one. A man. "If he knows - "

"Oh, he knows," someone interrupted - Theo _,_ she knew, hearing the dryness in his tone - "but that shouldn't affect them. He knows about _us_ , not them _._ "

"Okay," Blaise drawled in response. "And why, exactly, wouldn't that - "

"Everything's in fucking flux, Zabini," Theo snapped, cutting him off. "But that doesn't mean he knows anything more than he did before. If you want to bring the Order here, then fine, but - "

"Centrally locate?" A scoff. _Pansy's_ scoff. "Doesn't that strike you as spectacularly unwise?"

"I don't fucking know, Pansy," Theo grumbled, and then Hermione heard him stand, his lengthy stride echoing as he left the room. "Just do whatever the fuck you want," he called, shoving the door open and taking a hard turn away from her, heading down a darkened corridor.

"Nott," she heard; an exasperated groan, followed by a reluctant sigh. Harry, she knew, and watched him follow after Theo.

"Touchy," Blaise commented, after the footsteps from the other two had gone. "Marvelous."

"Can't blame them," Pansy told him. "The way Theo tells it, Draco nearly died."

"Yeah," the male voice Hermione didn't recognize said gruffly. "Thanks for keeping us from the same fate, by the way."

"Not sure I deserve much credit," Pansy replied. There was a pause, and Hermione wondered for a moment where Daphne was, realizing she likely wasn't in the room.

Resting, she hoped; Daphne had certainly looked like she needed it.

"Go upstairs," Pansy said. "I'm sure this fucking house grew the two of you a bedroom by now."

"To share?" Blaise asked mockingly. "Parkinson, my virgin ears - "

"Don't fuck with me, Zabini, I _can't_ ," she retorted. "You and Warrington" - _ahh,_ thought Hermione, finally identifying the voice - "can do whatever you want. Just - don't kill anyone," she said flatly, "or _get_ killed, or - "

"You look stressed," Blaise commented tangentially. "Even considering the circumstances."

"Fuck off," Pansy told him, and huffed out a sigh. "Wish I hadn't sent Paul after Darian," she admitted, barely audible as she muttered it under her breath. "Could use a massage. Or a sedative."

"Is Darian okay?" Blaise asked, and Hermione caught a flicker of motion, guessing at a typical Pansy Parkinson shrug of disinterest. "Is that what's bothering you?"

"He's my husband," Pansy supplied, a little sharper than Hermione would have guessed.

"Didn't realize you cared," commented Cassius Warrington. "Marriage of convenience, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, well, I don't hate him," Pansy muttered. "But he may very well hate me - or kill me, even, if he knows where I've gone, so I figured it would be best that he have the elf for the moment."

"Well," Blaise said, "I'll leave you to your misery, I suppose." Hermione heard him rise to his feet, his shoes tapping along the floor. "You coming?"

"Yeah," Cassius returned, and before Hermione realized they were heading towards her she saw Blaise materialize from the study, his eyes finding hers in near-darkness.

His lips curled up in a slow, almost deviant smile.

"Granger," he said in greeting, and she ducked her head, giving him something of a nod before clearing her throat and shoving past him and Cassius, coming to the doorway and then stopping abruptly as she saw Pansy was the only one in the study, looking over what appeared to be a sleeping Zacharias Smith.

"Oh," Hermione said, and Pansy, curled up in one of the corner armchairs, looked up.

"Oh," she agreed, and for a moment Hermione thought to leave the room, but Pansy gestured to the vacant chair across from her, waving a hand. "Sit," she said. "If you want."

Hermione obeyed, falling slowly into the chair.

"So," she exhaled, and Pansy's mouth tightened.

"Draco's not broken, is he?" she asked brusquely, and Hermione shook her head, giving an answer before even considering the subtle implications of its phrasing. "Didn't think so," Pansy murmured, and flicked her gaze back up, eyeing Hermione. "You take care of him?" she asked, with a vicious air of mischief.

The question was _almost_ mocking; more like teasing.

"Yes," Hermione confirmed flatly, and to her surprise, Pansy's toying smirk broadened to a grin.

"Good," she murmured, and then looked down at her lap, contemplating something.

A few moments passed in silence.

"Pansy," Hermione ventured, treading uncertainly. "Are you - "

She trailed off as Pansy looked up.

"Am I okay?" Pansy guessed, arching a slim, dark brow, and Hermione grimaced in confirmation. "Not really, no," Pansy admitted without much change in tone, shaking her head. "Daphne doesn't want to talk to me. Doesn't seem to want to look at me," she added, with a mirthless laugh that manifested as a sputter. "Think I've disappointed her."

"I don't think - "

"Shut up, Granger," Pansy said wearily, and Hermione might have bristled, but the words didn't seem as mean as they might have been intended once upon a time. "Don't."

Hermione nodded uncertainly, chewing her lip.

"Well," Luna remarked, materializing on the arm of the chair and peeking over her shoulder. "This is cozy, isn't it?"

Hermione held back a sigh.

"Oh no," she exhaled, and Pansy frowned, eyeing her.

"What are you - "

"Hey," Cormac announced from the doorway, holding up a bottle of vintage wine. "Found a wine cellar. Want a drink?" he offered brusquely, staring at them; daring them to argue.

Hermione and Pansy exchanged glances, hesitating, and Pansy's jaw tightened.

"Terrible idea," she determined flatly, but she rose to her feet, promptly snatching the bottle from Cormac's hand and grabbing Hermione's shoulder to pull her towards the floor. "Let's fucking do it, Granger," she declared darkly, and the three of them settled into a circle on the floor as Pansy lifted her wand, tucking her legs underneath her and ruthlessly forcing the cork from the bottle.

* * *

When Draco woke, it was Theo in his bed.

"Pants," Theo commented, aimlessly tossing something in the air. "Ever heard of them?"

"Fuck off," Draco said groggily, and looked down, hissing slightly as he felt a pain throbbing in his left wrist. "Shit," he muttered, looking at his Mark. "Does yours - "

"Hurt like a motherfucking pain parade? Yes," Theo confirmed neatly, catching the item he'd been playing with. Draco squinted at it; it looked like a compass. "I thought I'd see how yours was doing."

"Bad," Draco ruled flatly, and flexed his palm, opening and closing his fingers before glancing over, catching something from the corner of his eye. "There's something on your arm," he realized, frowning, and Theo glanced down, watching small, deliberately spaced letters begin to form next to the word _HELP_ that had been carved down the line of his forearm.

"Yeah, I know," Theo said lazily, watching the words appear. "Potter's taken to following me around."

Draco squinted, reading the words. _Where r u,_ it said, as though it had been drawn into Theo's arm with a fingernail.

Theo sighed, rolling his eyes.

 _Draco,_ he wrote back, and within a minute or so the door opened, revealing Potter in the doorway. He paused, and the grey of his hair caught the light, making him look somehow even older than the ten years he'd aged.

It was like seeing the future and the past all at once.

Harry Potter, Draco thought, considering him anew. Harry Potter, who'd saved his life.

 _Again._

"Hey," he grunted, and the other man nodded gruffly. "Thanks for - "

Potter - _Harry,_ he corrected himself, forcing it to stick - cut him off with a wave of his hand, looking uncomfortable with where the sentence was headed.

"I try to save your life every few years or so," Harry remarked instead, shutting the door behind him and shoving Theo's legs over to take a spot at the edge of the bed, leaning against the post. "I find it does wonders for my complexion."

"Fuck you," Draco said.

"How sweet," Theo commented, preening. "You're bonding."

"Fuck off," Draco and Harry retorted in unison. Theo shrugged, and Draco sighed.

"What the fuck are you two doing in here, anyway?" he asked, glaring between them. "Has my stupid house not provided you both enough rooms?"

"I was checking on you," Theo told him. "You know. After the whole near-death thing that you so unwisely brought upon yourself."

"And I," Harry contributed, "was making sure Nott wasn't off murdering you. Or anyone," he clarified hastily, as Theo made a face.

"Why would I save his life only to murder him, Potter?" Theo demanded. "What the fuck kind of idiocy occupies the space in your scarred up laugh of a - "

"As you can see," Harry interrupted calmly, motioning pointedly to Theo, "he's been in a bit of a mood."

"He's prone," Draco agreed, and Theo scowled at them both.

"What are you doing stalking me, anyway?" Theo demanded from Harry, brows furrowed. "Shouldn't you be off with Lovegood? You know," he added, his hand drifting reflexively to the scar on his arm, "since that's what you _wanted_?"

Draco caught a flicker of something troubling that passed over Harry's expression and thought, for a moment, that perhaps they were delving into something uncomfortably private; but by the time he cleared his throat to speak, Harry had already begun to answer.

"I think she's in love with someone else," Harry commented, and Theo, who could almost never be counted on for distinct moments of sensitivity, miraculously said nothing.

"Krum, I presume?" Draco murmured, and Harry shrugged, not looking at him.

"Why don't you just ask her?" Theo told him. "Communication," he added flippantly, stretching his arms up to rest his hands behind his head. "I'm told it works in spades, though personally I abhor it."

Harry shrugged. "I haven't asked her because I know she'd tell me the truth," he admitted, "and I'm really not sure I want to know."

"What?" Draco asked, frowning. "Why the fuck not?"

To his surprise, Theo scoffed.

"Because if she tells him," Theo said, pointedly kicking at Harry's right leg, "then he'll have to stop existing in a state of delusion."

"Grand," Draco ruled listlessly, putting pressure on his still-throbbing wrist as Harry shrugged, shoving Theo's foot away.

"He's not wrong," Harry admitted. "If I ask her if she's been - you know." He paused, hesitating. "If she's - "

"Fucking Viktor Krum," Theo supplied helpfully, and Harry grimaced.

"If I _ask_ her," he repeated, glaring at him, "she'll tell me. With absolute honesty," he added, looking absurdly fond, "like she always does. _Did_." He waited a moment, toying with something, and then shrugged, resigned. "I'm just sort of afraid of the answer, I guess."

There was a brief pause, and then Theo coughed, breaking the silence.

"She's a weird fucking choice, Potter," he remarked. "Even for you."

"Helpful input," Harry muttered, shoving Theo's foot off the bed, and Draco sighed, rubbing his temple.

"Maybe it's not serious with Krum," he said to Harry. "Is she with him right now?"

"No," Harry admitted. "She's with Ginny. She's been with Ginny basically since we arrived, with pockets of time here and there for other people. Hermione, for a bit," he said. "Had to tell her about Bill, I guess, but - "

"Bill?" Draco echoed, and abruptly, Harry seemed to freeze in place.

"Yeah, um. Nobody," he said awkwardly, and Draco frowned, about to press the issue when Theo spoke again.

"How did it happen?" he asked Harry. "You and Lovegood, I mean."

Harry shrugged. "How does anything happen?" he prompted. "She gets me. She gave me direction, you know?" He withered slightly. "Purpose."

Theo made an incoherent sound of skepticism. "What, since Dumbledore wasn't there to tell you what to do you just went with the next best thing?" he drawled, and immediately, Draco, watching something spark angrily in Harry's stare, could see that Theo had crossed some precarious line.

"What about you, then, Nott?" Harry demanded. "I know Malfoy was a prejudiced little prat who got dealt a shit hand, but what's _your_ excuse?"

"Hey," Draco attempted impatiently. "Can you two - "

"Weren't you supposed to be the smart one?" Harry mocked, ignoring Draco as Theo glowered back. "Aren't you the one who should have known better? Never were one for Crabbe or Goyle, but you still took the Mark before either of them, didn't you?"

"Shut up," Theo snapped. "Shut your fucking mouth, Potter, right fucking _now_ \- "

"Why'd _you_ do it?" Harry asked him. "You want to know my life? I fell in love with the girl who made me feel like I could do anything. Like I could conquer the fucking world. That's _my_ story. What's yours?" he demanded forcefully. "What's _your_ fucking story for that Mark on your wrist, Nott?"

Theo's fingers tightened on his wand and Harry leaned forward, beckoning, but Draco shoved Theo back, wresting them apart.

"Stop," Draco cut in sharply, glaring at them. "You realize if you hex each other you'll _both_ feel it, right?"

"Fuck off," Theo and Harry spat in unison, not looking at him.

"I can feel the pain from your Mark, Nott," Harry growled, pointedly raising his own left wrist. "I can feel it burning, and I just want to know why the fuck you thought _this_ was worth it - "

"You know what, Potter? You think you're fucking noble, but you're _not_ ," Theo snarled, both of them suddenly scrambling to their feet, fists clenched. "What makes you think you even deserve the person you want?" he spat, and Harry's expression contorted, momentarily sickened, in pain that manifested as repulsion. "You know, personally," Theo added, with a fury that bit through his affectatious drawl, "I'm of the mind that we get what we love most. What we actually _love_ \- so did you really love _her_ , Potter," he challenged, "or did you just love the fucking hero she made you?"

At that, Harry whipped back, visibly stung.

"That's not fair," Harry forced through gritted teeth. "That's not fair. You don't know me - "

"And you don't know _me_!" Theo roared back, and Draco watched him dig his nails into his palm as Harry flinched, staring down at his own hands. "You think this is pain?" Theo demanded, holding up the Mark on his left wrist as the snake coiled fitfully through the skull. "You think _this_ is the worst pain I've ever felt? You're wrong, Potter," he said hoarsely, his gaze drifting to Draco.

"You're wrong," Theo croaked out again, and Harry's wide-eyed gaze transferred slowly, inching from Theo to Draco, until both men had fixated on where he sat on the bed.

"It was my fault, Potter," Draco told him carefully, forcing a swallow as Theo's gaze drifted agitatedly down to his feet. "Theo took the Mark because of me. But with everything the way it was," he pressed, feeling some inexplicable urge to make him to understand, "we didn't have a choice anyway, and - "

"I crossed a line," Harry interrupted, shaking his head. "I was being petty. I'm sorry," he offered to Theo, who didn't look up. "I'm sorry."

Theo grimaced. "It's fine," he said, and brought his hand down; a motion that Draco knew like an intake of breath, watching Theo dig his nails into the Mark he'd never wanted. "I'm sorry, too. About this," Theo acknowledged, lifting his wrist and gesturing to it. "Not really about anything else."

"Yeah, well, my fault for giving you ten more years," Harry grumbled, and then, as if they hadn't just nearly punched each other, Theo's mouth curved up in a smirk.

"I'm going to spend all ten of those years," he remarked thoughtfully, "driving you into an early grave, Potter."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Draco muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Am I going to have to watch?"

"Yes," Theo and Harry said in unison.

"Unless we die sooner," Harry offered, and Theo nodded.

"That's an idea," he agreed. "We do still have 'destroying a Dark Lord' and 'redeeming a dystopian society' on the agenda, so death is surely imminent."

"Oh, without a doubt," Harry ruled, and Draco frowned.

"Going to be hard to do that with this shit going on," he remarked, half wanting to burn the Mark off his wrist and then slice his hand along with it. "Can barely think. Plus who knows what else it can do, or what _he_ can do through it - "

"Fuckery," Theo predicted with a shudder. "Fuckery that I had not considered."

"The only kind of fuckery there is," Draco muttered, as Theo flopped down on the bed beside him, giving him a shove.

Harry stood still, frowning vacantly into space.

"Oi, Potter," Draco said, snapping his fingers. "Have we lost you?"

"What?" Harry asked vacantly, and then shook his head, refocusing. "No, actually, I had an idea. But I promise," he added with a grimace, "you're not going to like it."

Draco glanced at Theo, who arched a brow.

"Well?" Theo prompted, and Harry sighed.

"Have you seen Daphne's tattoo?" he asked. "Her phoenix. For some reason it flies," he murmured, "and it seems to be helping her."

"So?" Theo asked, and Draco looked down, his wrist prickling from needle-thin punctures of torment as he processed what Harry was suggesting.

"No," he realized aloud, shaking his head, but when he looked up, Harry was shrugging guiltily.

"Yes," he countered, and Draco sighed.

"Is there any use remaining firm that this still isn't the Order?" he groaned, and Theo grinned.

"Nope," Theo said brightly. "No fucking use at all."

* * *

"True or false," Cormac slurred, taking a swig from their third bottle. "Ginevra Molly Weasley is the only woman I've ever loved."

"False?" Hermione asked hopefully, turning her head to squint at him from the floor, and he sighed dramatically.

"TRUE," he admonished her, wagging a finger. His lips and teeth were stained a dark shade of plum from the wine, and Hermione stuck out her tongue, wondering if she could see the crimson from the tip of it as well. "Your turn."

"True or false," Pansy said, rolling onto her stomach and blowing a loose curl from her face as she reached up, patting a near-catatonic Zacharias. "Daphne motherfucking Greengrass is the only woman I've ever loved."

"False," Cormac said, and then frowned. "Wait, did you say woman?"

"Yes," Pansy muttered, burying her face in the carpet. "Iuweyfibopfowhbcubo."

Hermione reached over, tapping her shoulder. "What?" she demanded, squinting, and Pansy looked up, sighing.

"Daphne's the only _woman_ I've ever loved," she said, pouting, "but I loved Draco, too."

Something in Hermione flooded through her, chilling her veins and stretching to the tips of her fingers in violent opposition.

"No you didn't," she said stubbornly, and Pansy grinned.

"Not really," she agreed. "Not like you. Look at you," she added, shoving her manicured finger into Hermione's nose. "All smitten."

"You," Hermione protested, swatting at her hand. "You."

"BORING," Cormac lamented at the top of his lungs, flopping down between them. "Your turn, Granger," he added, nudging the bottle in his hand against her hip. "Give us a good one."

"Hm," Hermione said, sitting up to take a sip from Cormac's bottle. "Oh," she said, locking eyes with Bill, who sat waiting across the room. "You ready?" She leaned over, handing the bottle to Pansy, who also dragged herself upright. "It's a good one."

"Let me guess," Pansy said wickedly, drawing a finger down Hermione's neckline and then flicking her hand back up, smacking Hermione in the nose. "You like it rough, don't you, Granger?"

"Granger is a secret freak," Cormac contributed loudly, raising one hand to salute the ceiling, and Hermione made a face.

"I'm an extremely sensual and giving lover - "

"GROSS - "

" - but that's not it," Hermione confessed with a giggle, edging closer to Pansy. "Here's - here's the thing." She paused, hiccuping, and then leaned in conspiratorially. "I see ghosts," she whispered loudly, and Pansy swayed forward, bumping their foreheads together.

"What," she asked, and paused, seeming to have lost her train of thought. "What," she attempted again, nodding firmly, " _kind_ of ghosts?"

"When I was kidnapped," Hermione said, "and left to die in a dungeon - "

"DARK," Cormac moaned, covering his face with his hands.

" - people I knew started appearing to me," she continued, scrubbing helplessly at her eyes. "Harry came to keep me alive, and Luna, and Bill - "

"Bill?" Pansy asked, blinking. "Billiam?"

"Billiam Beasley," Hermione confirmed, and then frowned. " _William_ ," she corrected, "Weasley."

"Why him?" Pansy asked, and Bill crept forward.

"Yes, Hermione," he said quietly, reaching out to stroke her cheek. "Why me?"

"Because I loved him," Hermione confessed, saying the words out loud for perhaps the first time that she could remember. "I loved him more than he could ever love me, and I loved him, and he was bad for me, and I didn't say goodbye because I was afraid and I wanted to be angry. I wanted to be _angry_ ," she said again, and started to laugh. "I wanted to think he wasn't missing me so that I would never miss him, and never want him, and never trust him - and never trust _anyone_ \- "

"Dark," Cormac said again, quieter this time, and Hermione sobered slightly, blinking back a haze.

"I can't let him go," she confessed, staring at the specter of him. "I can't let him go because I'm afraid of loving someone like that. Like I loved him. I knew it would end," she admitted, and felt something rise up in her throat to choke her. "I knew it would end, because _everything_ ends, and if I forget him - " she took a deep breath, letting her voice falter.

"If I forget him," Hermione attempted again, "and I forget what it felt like to be with him, then I might let myself - "

"Be happy?" Pansy asked her, and for an instant, the loud-mouthed girl Hermione had always known was gone, replaced by someone frightened and small. "You might let yourself love again if you forget what it felt like to hurt. Is that it?"

Hermione's head spun, tears threatening to spill, but she blinked them back.

"I'm afraid," she said. "I'm scared."

"Of what?" Cormac asked, lifting his head. "That you might search for years for the girl you love, and then find out she doesn't want to see you?"

"Or," Pansy contributed sharply, "that you can never be as brave as she is, and if she finds out, she won't love you at all?"

Hermione hesitated, reading their truths from their lips.

"It's more like I might invest myself in something that could break," she said uncertainly, and Pansy let out a sniff, falling back to the floor.

" _We're_ the breakable ones, Granger," she said, gesturing to the three of them. " _We're_ the ones who are scared. They won't break," she said, suddenly sounding angry. "We can't break them, but they break us. _You're_ afraid to break," Pansy accused her, brandishing a finger at her from the floor. "But you don't know how lucky you are, because Draco Malfoy won't break you. He broke me," she added, laughing, her fingers floating like she could touch something; reaching for a memory beyond her grasp. "He broke me a little, but he doesn't look at me like you. He won't break you."

"Then what if I break him?" Hermione asked, and Cormac let out something that sounded like a strangled sigh.

"Isn't that whole shitstorm of love?" he asked, staring at her. "The fucking - _privilege_ of it? That someone lets you break them, they say 'here you go' - " he gestured, serving her an imaginary platter, " - and they say 'take it,' and we do, and they say 'don't break it' and we _don't_ , because it's a fucking honor to handle them with care, isn't it? And that's _love_ , isn't it?" he pressed. "That they let us promise not to break them, and they believe us when we swear. They believe us," he ranted, and then softened, something seeming to dawn in his vacant gaze.

"She didn't believe me," Cormac realized aloud, his face going pale. "She didn't let me have her, so I could never break her, so it was never love."

"Cormac," Hermione said worriedly, reaching for him, but Pansy got him first, dragging him into her chest.

"Shut up, you big baby," she whispered to him, gently stroking his hair. "You monstrous, terrible child."

"She doesn't want me," he muttered, and Hermione opened her mouth to speak - to argue, to say _that can't possibly be it_ \- but immediately clapped her hand over her mouth, feeling an upsurge of excessive intoxication rise up volatilely in her throat.

"Hold on," she muttered into her hand, and stumbled to her feet, dragging herself up by the arm of the chair and staggering from the room, catching her breath. She stood in the hallway, steadying herself, and waited, taking a few breaths.

In; out.

Another deep breath in; a pause, and then release.

Three more breaths, and then she felt the wave of nausea subside. She went into the kitchen, clumsily summoning some glasses and water, and then levitated it back to the study, her hand pressed flat against the door.

"She doesn't want me," she heard Cormac say again, and paused.

"I know," Pansy whispered back. "She doesn't want me, either."

Hermione tried to take a step - to re-enter the room - but something held her back, rooting her in place.

"I haven't been held in a while," Cormac commented, his voice muffled, and for reasons she didn't understand yet, Hermione's heart thudded uneasily. "Thank you."

"I want to hold _her_ ," Pansy babbled, sniffling once. "I want to, but she doesn't - she won't - "

There was a rustle, and Hermione peeked through the crack in the door, holding her breath in alarm as Cormac pulled himself up, drawing Pansy towards him. He bent his head, brushing his lips against hers, and Pansy froze, rigid, and stared at him, as Hermione clapped a hand silently over her mouth.

"What are you doing?" Pansy whispered, and Cormac blinked, suddenly looking shell-shocked.

"I - I don't know," he admitted. "I just - I'm sad," he confessed shakily, his voice so broken and bare that even from afar Hermione suffered it, feeling it rattle around in her chest. "I'm so fucking _sad_ ," he choked out, "and I just want - I just wanted - "

He was cut off as Pansy pulled him against her, dragging his chest down to hers. Hermione, releasing a near-silent squeak of concern, watched as Cormac's hand slipped to Pansy's waist, and then lower, and Pansy shifted beneath him to tug his shirt from his trousers and he fidgeted to raise the hem of her skirt, his hand sliding along the side of her thigh and disappearing beneath the fabric until -

"Oh my god," Hermione gasped, and turned, promptly forgetting the levitation and knocking the pitcher and glasses to the floor, pausing in bewilderment as they stopped mid-air before hitting the ground. "What the - "

"Miss will not tell Miss Daphne what she is seeing," Paul the house elf warned her, startling Hermione all over again as he materialized in the corridor with his hand out, suspending the crash of the glasses. "Miss is keeping her nosing eyes to herself."

"Paul," Hermione said, blinking. "I - I don't know if I can - "

"Miss is not understanding Mistress," Paul said furiously, and Hermione stared at him, bewildered. "Miss is not knowing the person Mistress is, the _real_ person is Mistress, and Miss should not be too leaping to judge - "

"Paul," Hermione said, attempting sternness and wobbling in place. "This is - that's - this is _wrong_ , and - "

"Mistress is being married to Master," Paul reminded her impatiently, arching a brow, "so Mistress is doing _many_ wrongs - but Mistress is being a good person. The _best_ person, better than you, Miss - "

"Excuse me," Hermione said, affronted. "That's - I'm - how dare you, I think?"

"Mistress is being kind to Paul when nobody is being kind to Paul," the elf told her, suddenly drawing himself up to his full height and wailing. "Paul is hating life, Miss, _hating_ it - but Mistress is giving Paul companionship, and kindnesses, and is being a friend to Paul, but Mistress is hating herself, Miss - Mistress is fearing her own heart, Miss, and hating it, and Paul is not standing for it, HE WON'T -"

"Okay, okay, fine," Hermione assured him nervously, glancing over her shoulder and then promptly squeezing her eyes shut, her head spinning as she willed herself to forget. "But - I should just - "

"Miss can be leaving now," Paul told her firmly, wiping at what appeared to be tears in his eyes. "Paul will be seeing to Mistress."

"But - "

"Miss is leaving now," he repeated loudly, snapping his fingers to return the glasses to a state of levitation before gesturing over his shoulder. "Yes, Miss?"

Hermione shook her head, exhausted. "Yes, Paul," she sighed, and headed up the stairs, determining that now that she'd been scolded by a house elf, she might finally - _finally_ , however many hours later, and after however many bottles of wine - manage to fall sleep beside Draco.

She stumbled up the stairs, catching a light in another room, and paused, staring at it.

"Hello?" she asked, walking into the room, and saw Luna lying beside Ginny, Luna's overlarge grey eyes fixed on the redhead's face. "Oh," Hermione said, staring at her. "Are you really here?"

Luna looked up. "Hm?" she asked vacantly, and Hermione squinted, watching her swirl in and out of sight.

"You," Hermione said accusatorily, taking a step inside. "Are you real?"

Luna tilted her head, giving it some thought. "Well," she began. "I suppose to answer the question properly, you would have to be clear about your perception of reality. I often ask myself the same thing - whether I'm real only to myself, or if I'm real on some kind of grander scale, in the midst of the universe - or even _a_ universe among many, constantly alternating, where maybe somewhere I'm - "

"I meant," Hermione cut in impatiently, "are you the specter of yourself that's been intermittently appearing in my mind, or are you actually physically present?"

"Oh," Luna said, staring at the ceiling for a moment before nodding. "No, I'm rather certain I'm physically here."

"Good," Hermione said, and then squinted again, narrowing the scope of her unsteady gaze to where Luna lay beside Ginny on the bed. "What's going on?"

Luna sighed.

"We're almost out of potion," she said sadly, reaching out to tuck a lock of Ginny's hair behind her ear, "but I can't leave her."

At that, Hermione stood still, staring at Luna.

She waited for a moment, considering something, and realized that the strangeness rattling in her bones was déjà vu; it seemed, for reasons her inebriated self could not fully comprehend, an unnervingly similar situation to the one she'd just experienced. She felt a creeping sense of noiseless opposition, a gruesome rise of it in her throat, and it bubbled to the surface without her consent.

"You should stop toying with Harry," Hermione blurted suddenly, knowing she sounded obnoxiously self-righteous - almost like the old days; _almost_ \- and then deciding she didn't care. "You should stand by the person you love, you know."

Luna looked up, meeting Hermione's gaze with sadness and regret, and like a slap to her still-heated face Hermione realized for the first time that perhaps no one was as she remembered them; not Pansy, not Cormac, and certainly not Luna, who looked far more human as the light flickered against her face than she had ever looked while she was whispering maddening riddles in Hermione's ear.

"I know," the real Luna Lovegood - not a memory, not a figment of herself, but the actual, _real_ her - said sorrowfully, her voice impossibly soft. "I know."

"What's going on?" Hermione heard behind her, and she turned, watching Daphne rub sleepily at her eyes. "Sorry," she murmured, smiling apologetically at Hermione. "I just needed to get some sleep, but if you need anything - "

"No, no, I don't," Hermione said quickly, finding with supreme displeasure that she couldn't quite meet the other witch's eye. "But, um - Blaise is here, and Cassius Warrington, and uh - " she hesitated. "Nothing else. I don't know anything else, I mean," she amended hurriedly, "but - "

"Hermione," Harry interrupted, barging into the room. "I need you to help me with - " he paused, frowning, and stared at her. "Are you drunk?" he asked, blinking.

"No," Hermione said. "Stop moving," she added, and he sighed, reaching forward to grab her wrist.

"Come on," he muttered. "It's not any different from the first time we did this, anyway - "

"Harry James Potter, you are manhandling me," she informed him, slapping at his wrist and missing it entirely. "What am I doing?"

"You," Harry said, whipping around to throw an arm over her shoulders with a grin, "are about to do a couple more tattoos."

* * *

"Ah, there you are, you trousered minx," Theo said, nodding approvingly to Draco as he stood, fully dressed. "Are you ready to be bespoilt, O Lord Malfoy?"

Astoundingly, Draco managed not to slap him.

"I can't believe you let Potter talk us into a fucking _phoenix tattoo,_ " Draco muttered instead, shaking his head. "As if the collusion of the bloody _walls of this house_ " - this, in particular, he made a point to shout, addressing the unapologetic walls directly - "wasn't betrayal enough on its _own_ \- "

"Your opposition remains unfailingly charming," Theo cut in, "but surely you realize you can't exactly afford to stand so rigidly anymore." He sat down at the foot of Draco's bed, staring intently at him. "You _do_ realize this, don't you?"

Draco groaned. "I say we just _leave_ ," he retorted flatly, crossing his arms over his chest. "You know, go to Tahiti or something. Surely there are no Dark Lords in Tahiti," he added, aiming for positivity, and Theo shrugged.

"So true," he agreed, leaning back on his elbows. "And it _would_ be the Slytherin thing to run, wouldn't it?"

"Yes," Draco confirmed firmly, "and - "

"Except the Slytherins already ran," Theo reminded him, his tone pointedly aloof. "Ran straight out of that battle seven years ago, didn't we? And look how well that turned out," he remarked sarcastically, gesturing around them. "We're cloistered in a madhouse with two dead fathers, two sets of targets on both our backs, and a fucking scar-faced lunatic for company. The absolute _dream_ ," he finished flatly, and Draco, who steadfastly refused to be taught a lesson by Theo Nott, made a face.

"Still," he insisted. "It's one thing to - "

"We have to fight this time," Theo said flatly, and a little too loudly, and when there came a knock at the door they both turned in alarm, Draco flashing Theo a warning glare before calling for them to come in.

"Well," Blaise said, nudging the door open as he leaned luxuriantly against the vacant frame. "Now that you're awake, I feel it's appropriate to point out that you two were vastly underselling the bit of trouble you'd gotten yourselves into."

Draco brought a hand to his face, curling a growl into it as he dragged it around his mouth. "I take it you're here to share your opposition?" he asked wearily.

"Oh, Draco, you underestimate me," Blaise said. "How unspeakably rude of you."

He walked in as Theo and Draco both waited, watching him tacitly build to something.

"So," Blaise said, leaning an elbow against the post of Draco's bed. "Harry Potter is in this house."

"Also Viktor Krum," Theo suggested unhelpfully, as Draco sighed.

"Yes, I'm sorry for the infestation," Draco muttered, but Blaise cut him off, clearly not through with his thought.

"Would you have come to get me," Blaise asked, "if you hadn't thought my life was in danger?"

Draco frowned, exchanging a glance of confusion with Theo.

"That's a no," Blaise judged, pursing his lips and eyeing his fingernails. "I have to say I'm disappointed, gents. I know you're a two-man operation, but I thought you'd find me a tad more necessary."

They paused again; it was a surprise to see Blaise so genuinely bothered, and both Draco and Theo seemed to register the notable anomaly.

"Well," Draco attempted uncertainly, "considering the sides we were on seven years ago, I really don't think you can be surprised that - "

"Seven fucking years have passed, you shitting blond monstrosity," Blaise retorted, now shifting from genuine bother to genuine anger. "If you really don't think those seven years have been hell for me, were you just lying when you said you were sorry? I thought you knew," Blaise ranted, "I thought you _saw -_ "

"Oh look," Hermione said behind them, stumbling through the door as Harry lunged after her, thrusting an arm out to catch her. "Everyone's here."

"Granger," Theo said with a frown. "Are you - "

"Drunk as several skunks," she confirmed, and Draco, who'd been stunned at first, felt an unexpected laugh creep up in his chest, watching her flash him a wide-eyed look of something equal parts apology and interest before staggering towards him, shoving Harry's arm away.

"I hear voices," she announced, and promptly threw herself across his lap. Draco chuckled, reaching down to stroke her hair.

"Yes, well, that will happen," he murmured to her, and she shook her head, frowning.

"No, no, I hear _voices_ ," she said, but Theo interrupted with a glance at Harry, who was watching with amusement.

"Potter, what the hell kind of - "

"This was presumably Pansy, not me," Harry cut in, sighing into the span of his palm as he gave a brief tug at his beard. "But it's fine. Hermione's done this drunk before."

"What? Are you a wizard or not?" Draco demanded. "I'm sure there's sobriety draught somewhere in this house of ancient revelling fools - "

"I have some," Blaise offered neatly, shifting his stance, "and could easily brew some, being the expert that I am - but of course," he drawled, "you don't really need me, do you, Malfoy?"

"This is really not the time for a tantrum, Zabini," Draco snapped, as Hermione hummed quietly in his lap.

"Zabini forever," she murmured, reaching up to spread her fingers across Draco's face, and Theo nodded in solemn agreement.

"She's not wrong," he pointed out, and Draco sighed.

"Look," he said, nudging Hermione upright and letting her curl up in his arms. "You want to know everything, Blaise? Here's everything. The fucking Order of the Phoenix is trying to recruit me, and the _last_ time I was recruited for something it literally fucking burned me," he said, brusquely holding up his wrist for evidence, "so I'm not all that goddamn thrilled about it. If I didn't come to you, it's because I didn't want to come to _anyone_ , and I've been tricked into all of this against my will. So if you want to hold that against me, then - "

"Well that's all you had to say, mate," Blaise said curtly, stepping back and gesturing for Harry to step forward. "Proceed, then."

"Oh, you're all in here," Daphne called, materializing in the doorway and coming to sit beside Draco and Hermione. "What's going on?"

"Did I accidentally open some kind of sleepaway camp for miscreants?" Draco demanded. "Nothing's 'going on,' we're just - "

"Their Marks," Harry told her, reaching over and holding up Theo's as he snatched his wrist away, scowling back at Harry. "They're burning. I thought since your tattoo's been helping you, then - "

"A phoenix," Daphne supplied, nodding in recognition. "To hold back the snake?"

"Yeah," Harry said, and Hermione, her head still burrowed into Draco's chest, suddenly shoved herself to her feet, rocking onto them.

"Harry Potter," she said, nudging a finger into his shoulder. "Where's my wand?"

"You're holding it," Harry reminded her, and she looked down.

"Oh," she said, blinking vacantly at it. "Right."

"Okay, what was that about sobriety?" Theo demanded. " _Blaise_ \- "

"Don't be a baby, Nott," Hermione sniffed, grabbing his hand and yanking him down, settling herself on the floor and brusquely dragging Theo along with her. "Give me this - "

"You know, maybe we should start planning our next move," Daphne suggested, nudging Draco as Harry sat beside her and Theo let out a howl that was clearly more annoyance than pain, glowering at Hermione as she took her wand to his wrist. "We're going to run out of Draught of Living Death soon, and anyway, it doesn't feel right trapping Ginny inside her own brain - "

"No, it doesn't," Harry agreed, shaking his head. "We're going to need to plot some offensive."

"Maybe having Ginny is an advantage," Daphne suggested; slowly, as if she'd thought about it for quite some time, but wanted the idea to sound spontaneous. "After all, we know the Dark Lord would do anything to have her, right? He'll come after her, so - "

"A trap," Draco murmured; _a trap, a lure of sorts, to draw him out of hiding -_

"Dangerous," Blaise said. "Something sneakier, perhaps? More Slytherin."

"Yes, more Slytherin," Harry muttered moodily, rolling his eyes. "What an aspiration - "

" _Asp_ -iration," Theo pronounced with a merciless grin, and then promptly hissed in pain. "GRANGER, what the fuck - "

"It didn't work before," Draco reminded them carefully. "And anyway, we're kind of limited. Once we set foot outside this house, every spell we cast is tracked by the Ministry - we'd have Snatchers on us in a fucking _instant -_ "

"Not if you don't use those wands," Hermione pointed out, not looking up from her work on Theo's wrist. "Didn't you say that since Harry and I lived off the grid, we didn't have to worry about being tracked?"

"Yes, but we don't exactly have access to untracked wands," Draco told her. "The one I gave you is fine because it hasn't been used since before the registry started, but any new wand would be on file with the Ministry, so - "

"So you steal one," Harry suggested. "Two," he amended, nodding to Theo.

"From whom?" Draco demanded. "You know how wandlore works. It can't just pass from one person to another and still work correctly unless we _win_ them, or - "

"Unless the original owner is dead," Hermione contributed, pointedly pausing her work to gesture to his mother's wand. "Like this one," she reminded him, and Draco grimaced.

"Forgive me my insipidity," Blaise cut in, "but how, exactly, would you procure a wand from a _dead_ owner?"

"Easy," came a low drawl from the doorway, and Draco looked up, catching Pansy's eye. "People are buried with their wands." She cleared her throat, pointedly not looking at Daphne, and from the floor, Hermione coughed loudly, suddenly choking on nothing. "Jesus, Granger," Pansy sniffed, settling down beside her, and Hermione shook her head, pointing evasively at her throat.

"Just a - nothing," she forced out, and Theo retracted his hand, staring at his wrist.

"Hey," he said. "This is - "

"Better," Harry noted, eyeing his own left wrist. "The pain's subsiding a little."

"The phoenix is - _fuck me_ ," Theo said in alarm, and the others shifted around the room, leaning in to watch. "Holy shit, it's - "

They paused, speechless, as the phoenix on Theo's wrist reared up, flapping its wings twice; the snake from the Dark Mark coiled itself tightly, preparing to strike, but the phoenix caught it in its talons, forcing it taut before the bird rested regally upon the skull, making Theo's wrist its domain.

"Fuck," Theo exhaled, and Draco blinked, astonished.

"And to think," Harry proclaimed, rising to pat the top of Hermione's head. "She's drunk as several skunks."

She looked up, preening slightly, and then met Draco's eye.

"Your turn," she offered, holding out a hand for his, and he sighed, rising to his feet and then shoving Theo towards Harry, placing himself beside her in his stead. "Are you sure?" she asked, the question murmured in his ear as quietly as she could manage, intended just for him. "If you're not ready - if you don't want to - "

 _If day and night were balanced on the razor-edge of horizon, was one to exist without the other?_

 _Or was day meant to devolve, reaching its golden arms into the mourning tendrils of night?_

"If you lose, I lose," he reminded her, and held out his wrist in solemn resignation. "I'd rather not have Dumbledore's fucking symbol on my wrist," he lamented sulkily, "but if this is what it takes, then - "

"It's not his," Hermione erupted, startling him with what was an almost alarming fury. "The phoenix isn't Dumbledore's symbol."

He frowned. "I wasn- "

"It's _not_ ," Hermione said loudly, and Draco balked, blinking, as he realized all other conversation in the room had ceased, all sets of eyes falling on them. "This isn't about him. It was never about _him._ He may have started the Order of the Phoenix, but it doesn't belong to him. Nothing _belongs_ to anyone," she informed Draco forcefully, her fingers tightening around his wrist. "You-Know-Who put this Mark on you to claim you, to rid you of what you are, but the phoenix belongs to _us_. The phoenix is _ours_ ," she said, glowing with something that was either certainty or triumph. "It's ours, Draco, and I'm not going to force it on you, but - "

 _How could he dare to simply watch the world pass when so many gifts remained, so many things still shone, even in the absence of light?_

 _For as day must always die in the arms of night, so too must he only exist to perish in the depths of her brightness -_

He cut her off, taking her face in his hands.

"You want me to fight for you? I'll fight for you," he said. "I'm with you." He looked up, finding Theo's eyes on him. "I'm with you," he said again, to Theo this time, "and if it takes a stupid cyclically regenerating bird on my wrist to prove it, then so be it."

 _For indeed, where he gaped, she rose, and where she faltered, he gleamed -_

 _And when darkness fell around them, they staggered slowly forward, illuminated in the sharedness of their sight -_

There was a moment of silence, of consecrated breaths of agreement, and then Harry spoke.

"It's not _that_ stupid, as far as symbols go," he told Draco. "I mean, the skull is kind of needlessly goth, don't you think?"

"Oh, shut up," Draco growled, and Hermione let out a breath, taking his throbbing wrist in her hand and bending her head, a small smile concealed by a drifting wave of her hair. "Back to the wand thing," he added, jabbing his free hand pointedly at Harry. "Where are we going to find dead people to steal wands from?"

Harry shrugged. "Wizard morgues?"

"They'd have to be pretty fucking good wands, though," Draco pointed out. "Considering we don't know how the wand's allegiances would turn out, there's no telling if they would work for us, unless - "

"Tombs," Hermione murmured quietly, and then looked up, frowning into nothing. " _Tombs_ ," she said again, more firmly this time, and Theo and Draco both stared at her.

"Are you speaking in tongues?" Theo demanded, and she shook her head.

"There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight - " she paused, looking around expectantly. "No opposition?" she asked, and shrugged. "Okay," she murmured, returning her attention to the tattoo on Draco's wrist. "In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through, and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands - "

" _Is_ she speaking in tongues?" Theo interrupted, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"We know this one," he reminded her. "The Three Brothers, from Beedle the Bard - "

"Yes, _but_ ," Hermione pressed, as Draco felt a slight sting from the spell, "did you know that the wand is real?"

"The unbeatable wand?" Theo asked, and Blaise settled himself on the bed.

"Hush, Theodore," he sniffed. "Let her tell the story."

"Yeah, Nott," Harry contributed, nudging him pointedly, and Theo sighed, gesturing flippantly for Hermione to continue.

"The brothers constructed a bridge with which to cross the river, and were halfway across when Death appeared to them, and offered them each a prize. Death, being himself rather clever, thought to give the brothers, whose lives should have been claimed by the river, the things they most desired; and in so doing, he would later claim them for his own, knowing as he did that the desires of men are so often foolish, and selfish."

"That's not how it goes," Blaise said, frowning, but Draco flashed him a warning look.

"The first brother," Hermione continued, "wishing for power and possessing an excess of pride, wished to humiliate Death, and so he asked for a wand with which to never lose a duel. So Death fashioned one out of an elder tree, and gave it to the oldest brother. The second brother, who envied Death, and wished him to suffer as he himself had suffered Death's past theft, asked for the ability to recall the dead; and so Death gave him a stone from the riverbank. Finally, the youngest brother, who was the wisest of the three, and the most conscientious of human nature, asked for something which would allow him to go forth throughout the world without being followed by Death, and so Death gave him his very own cloak of invisibili-"

"Ouch," Draco said, suffering the discomfort of the tattoo's spell, and the others glared at him.

"Shh," Daphne warned impatiently, and he made a face.

"The brothers went their separate ways," Hermione continued, "and the first brother, after traveling nearly a week, stopped in a tavern to seek out a wizard with whom he'd had a quarrel. Power untested is not power at all," she murmured, "and Death, in his wisdom, knew that all arrogant men can be relied upon for arrogance; and so the first brother was killed for want of his unbeatable wand, and Death claimed him for his own.

"The second brother journeyed home, contemplating with ardor the prize he thought he'd been given. He brought back his lost sweetheart, but upon her appearance it was as if she were separated by a veil, drifting further even as he ached to hold her close. Longing to be with her, and to once again place the fragility of his life in her hands" - at that Pansy shifted, looking supremely uncomfortable - "the second brother killed himself; and so, once again, Death claimed the second brother for his own.

"But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he never was able to find him; until one day, the third brother - who had known the value of a secret," she mused, "and who had taken shelter until the time was right, finally removed the cloak and gave it to his son; and having reached a great age, he greeted Death as an old friend, and they walked together, gladly, and departed from this life."

There was a lengthy, uncertain pause.

"The end," Hermione clarified, glancing up, and they all seemed to let out a collective breath.

"Okay," Theo permitted. "And this has to do with us getting wands - _how_ , exactly?"

"The elder wand is real," Hermione said, and the others looked over in surprise as Harry nodded. "It's the unbeatable wand that You-Know-Who's got."

"Okay," Theo permitted again, "but - "

"The three brothers are believed to be the Peverell brothers," Hermione continued. "Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus Peverell, all of whom worked together to create the - "

She paused, glancing up at Harry, who slowly shook his head.

" - the wand," Hermione finished. "But there are _three_ brothers, aren't there?" she prompted, looking between Draco and Theo. "Meaning that if they made the one, then presumably there are at least two other wands that might be just as good."

"I - " Harry began, and broke off, looking stunned. "I can't believe I'd never considered that."

"You want powerful wands?" Hermione asked, setting her wand down and running a thumb over Draco's wrist. "Maybe you should steal Cadmus and Ignotus' wands."

"Okay," Theo permitted, more gruffly this time, "but where would we find - "

"Godric's Hollow," Hermione and Harry supplied in unison, and Draco glanced between them, frowning, before realizing there was motion coming from his wrist.

He bent his head, watching in muted wonder as the phoenix Hermione had spelled into his skin unfurled a set of talons, shattering the skull, all while flames dripped from the blazing tips of its wings. The snake cowered, struck by a piece of the skull, and above it, the phoenix gripped something between its talons; a bow and arrow, Draco realized, and blinked, staring at it.

"This - " he turned to Hermione. "What's this?"

But she had already curled up in his lap, promptly falling asleep.

"So wait," Daphne said, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Did she just suggest you rob a centuries-old grave to steal two wands from _Godric's Hollow_?"

"Yes, I think so," Harry confirmed, shaking his head. "Man, I've missed her. I don't know how I didn't die without her, honestly - "

"You'll have to do it soon," Pansy reminded them. "Get the wands, not die," she clarified, rolling her eyes as Harry made a face. "The Dark Lord is bound to find Ginny soon, and once he does - " she grimaced pointedly, and the others collectively flinched.

"Well?" Harry asked, turning to Draco. "This is your operation, Malfoy. What are we going to do?"

"Don't," Draco growled, but Theo shook his head.

"No, Potter's right," Theo said. "You brought us all here, Draco, for one reason or another. This is your call, so - " he shrugged, and Draco tried not to stare at the many scars on his best friend's arms; the splintered lightning bolt, the phoenix, the carved evidence of his loyalty, the words that would never cease to haunt him.

"I've only got ten years," Theo reminded Draco, grinning. "Why waste a minute of it?"

Draco sighed, reaching down to stroke Hermione's hair.

"Potter," he began, taking a deep breath. "You, Theo, and I will go to Godric's Hollow. Potter'll do the apparation," he clarified to Theo, "and then we'll come straight back. While we're gone - Blaise," he said, nodding to him, "you and Lovegood will go get the other Order members - "

"Not sure she's going to leave Ginny," Daphne murmured, and Draco shrugged.

"Krum, then," he permitted. "Whatever. You go get them, and Daphne and Granger can figure out how to set a trap. Pansy, too, and get McLaggen to help," he added, catching an odd flickering on Pansy's face and choosing to ignore it. "Get Warrington to talk to Flint, and have him and McLaggen see what Snatchers we can get on board. And someone else make sure Smith's not dead," he added, sighing as he recalled the other man's existence, "and then we'll reconvene. It's all or nothing," he added, feeling a pain in his chest at the acknowledgement. "We've got one good opportunity to surprise them while they don't know who's on our side, but if we fail, we chance something like the Ministry raid happening again - he'll just be on guard, and we won't get another shot at him - "

"One shot," Theo cut in, shaking his head. "You sure you like those odds?"

Draco looked down, watching his phoenix rise up in triumph where his wrist lay beside Hermione's cheek, and Harry moved slowly to his feet, shifting to stand beside Draco.

"You know this is exactly what he doesn't expect, right?" Harry murmured, resting a hand on Draco's shoulder. "We've got him, Malfoy. He put that Mark on you so you'd believe you were nothing without him, but he's wrong, and that's why he'll lose. That's why he'll _die_ ," Harry determined flatly, looking momentarily like his old self as he said it, "because he never realized that he didn't break you."

There it was; the truth, stunning in all its dimension.

"He didn't break me," Draco repeated numbly, and looked up, meeting Theo's eyes. "It's more than one shot," he corrected, shaking his head. "It's relentless. And even if it were just the one," he added recklessly, "I'd still take those odds, because we've been sealing his fate for him every day that we didn't break."

 _To encounter the dark head on, to know danger, but not defeat, would be to triumph over darkness -_

 _To meet his fate, fearless and cool, would be to redraw the stars by which he lived -_

"We didn't break," Theo repeated, letting the words sink in slowly, and Draco nodded.

"We didn't break," Draco said, "so he never won."

 _He never won._

 _We always rise._

"We always fucking rise," Draco said to the phoenix on his wrist, and for a single, blissful moment, he could have sworn he heard the winds of change.

* * *

 **a/n:** You guys know this one; _The Tale of the Three Brothers_ by Beedle the Bard, alias Joanne Rowling. Dedicated to delicatecherry! Thanks to everyone for sticking with this monstrosity of a story. I promise, we are nearing the end.


	29. The Skin in Sacrifice

**a/n:** _TW for character death._

* * *

 **Chapter 29: The Skin in Sacrifice**

In 1997, the rumors would steadfastly claim that Luna Lovegood had been dragged off the Hogwarts Express on her way back for Christmas. After it happened, people would whisper about it, about how she'd been taken, but all the while Draco had known that what they said - the phrases they used, and the word ' _dragged_ ,' specifically - wasn't even close to accurate. He'd watched. He'd witnessed. He'd seen.

She wasn't _dragged_.

The Death Eaters who took her had worn masks, though Draco doubted they'd needed to; by that point, nobody was going to stop them, regardless of who they were. Maybe it was for intimidation or something, but it certainly wasn't for her benefit, because Luna wasn't afraid. Draco suspected she'd known that if she screamed they'd make an example of her - make certain nobody else ever felt any bubbling of mutiny _because_ of her - so it seemed to him that she'd intentionally chosen not to fight them. She purposely didn't fight back; not even when they shook her, forced her around, the blonde of her hair bobbing against their black robes as they took almost no care in her removal. She didn't make a sound, and she seemed conscious of each step, each one placed deliberately in front of the other.

Luna Lovegood wasn't dragged. She _went_ , and she looked Draco in the eye as she passed him. He stood on the train corridor, watching from an open compartment, and she looked directly at him, unnervingly holding his gaze for a moment that felt too significant to have been as brief as it was. He remembered thinking that it was as if she had wanted him to memorialize the moment; to burn it into his brain, plaster it into the backs of his eyelids. As if she wanted him to see what he had done.

He did.

He saw.

He didn't expect to find her at his home, though he supposed that wasn't actually surprising. They didn't ask him to torture her, though it wouldn't have been the first time if they had, and perhaps he would have done it, too. He saw her sometimes; was instructed, at times, to bring her things. He said nothing, did nothing, knowing full well that his mother sat upstairs with the Dark Lord and that anything he did would rain down on their heads. Not that he really thought about doing anything at all, by that point; it was too late, wasn't it? It was all too late, and to hear the Dark Lord tell it, Potter's loss was imminent.

Still, Draco's feet congratulated him. _Still walking_ , they said. _Still standing._

He said nothing to Luna, but she said one thing to him. Exactly one.

"The only difference between fear and courage is action," she told him slowly, finally addressing him one day just as he had turned to leave. She said it to the blades of his shoulders, to the weakness in his spine, to the gaps in his morality. "Fear itself is not the curse," she said, and then she let out a breath, closing her eyes.

He wondered if she were trying to build him up or break him, but he didn't ask questions. He said nothing in response.

Perhaps it was unsurprising that he, a magical being, began to get used to seeing people disappear.

Harry Potter had been gone, of course, from the start of the year, and Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger, but to a lesser extent there had also been Dean Thomas, and others like him whom Draco had come to expect like threads in a tapestry, suddenly yanked and the landscape made unclear. Ginny Weasley didn't come back after Easter, and for some reason, Draco took that as a good sign. It seemed an intentional sort of disappearance, so he considered that maybe she was somewhere she couldn't be found. Better _that_ sort of absence, he thought, than the kind that had been happening around the castle; Michael Corner, for instance, disappeared after being tortured for releasing a first-year that had been chained up. Until Draco saw him much later, he assumed Corner had been killed. He assumed the same of Seamus Finnegan, and also of Neville Longbottom.

He watched the vacancies fester in his classrooms, and grew more paralyzed each time.

"What is inaction?" he wanted to ask Luna, but by then she was long gone, and he hoped she'd stay gone. "Is that the curse?"

He saw all of them alive on the second of May, and learned for the first time what it meant to rise. Even after they disappeared again, even after they lost, something had changed. Something was different.

Years later, Hermione Granger appeared in his house, and she offered him a way out; a hand, a choice, a voice in his ear. _If you change your mind, maybe you'll find me._

 _The only difference between fear and courage is action,_ he thought.

 _Fear is not the curse._

He let her go alone - let her _go_ , yes, but didn't join her - because he was not a brave man; not a hero. Not someone who leapt. Not a man like Harry Potter, which was a thing he'd once celebrated about himself, though he couldn't remember why. But he'd let her go, and the thing - the tiny thing that had changed, that had been _different_ \- festered a little bit more.

Draco saw Harry Potter again and couldn't decide what he feared more: the man himself, the angry shadow they'd made of him, or the possibility that he, who had been the world's last hope, might die, and thus take his ending with him. The longer Harry Potter stayed alive, Draco reasoned internally, the longer the book stayed open. This can't be it, Draco thought, watching the smoke in the sky and breathing remorse into his lungs.

Then he found Hermione Granger lying on the floor of a dungeon and thought perhaps, for once, he understood.

 _The only difference between fear and courage is action._

 _Fear is not the curse._

He picked her up.

He took her home.

He made her pain his own.

 _The only difference between fear and courage is action._

 _Fear is not the curse._

Draco Malfoy had lived seven years under the reign of Lord Voldemort, and during that time he allowed the things he'd seen to become impersonal. So he'd seen his classmates go missing. _So what?_ he'd thought. He'd seen his mother die, and it hadn't been murder. People died, whether at a wand or not. Death was impersonal. He _made_ it impersonal.

But the body, when punctured, suffers three ways.

Blood loss; this is the most obvious. Draco fought it by keeping his head down, by keeping his distance. Theo's loss would have bled him, so he played his cards; he let someone else take the fall.

Shock, then. He lived seven years of it, feeling nothing. This is how the body shuts down. This is inaction. Shock is paralysis, numbness, delivery to oblivion. This is the wait before the breathing stops, before the heart falters, before the end - unless the shock subsides, but perhaps he knew even then that what comes next is always harder.

What comes next is _pain_.

Hermione's lips against his; _pain_. The sound of Theo's laughter; _pain_. Harry's loyalty. Daphne's tirelessness. Even Pansy's troubled presence. Pain, pain, and pain again.

All of it was pain, because for the first time, it was personal.

It was _personal_.

He suffered.

The tiny thing, the shallow cut, swallowed him whole and delivered him unsteadily, and now when he walked he heard something else. Whispers of something.

Her voice.

 _A reluctant hero,_ she'd said, _is a hero still_ , and though his feet still did not believe themselves heroes and probably thought equally little of him, he had been wounded and felt the sting, and nothing was impersonal anymore. He felt the weight in his step where he'd once felt nothing; but still, he felt.

He felt motion;

— _action_.

 _Fear is not the curse,_ he thought, and understood it in its entirety; understood the words as a whole. He understood, for the first time, that it was neither meant to build nor break him. Those words were never even meant for him, and he'd been selfish to think so; to imagine them served up on a platter for his consumption. His survival, his conscience, his morality had never been what those words were for, and he realized it at the very last second, when it was almost too late.

 _Fear is not the curse_ , he thought, standing restless in the corridor, ready to slip out in the night.

Theo joined him in the hall, with Harry at his side.

"Ready?" Harry asked, glancing between them.

 _The only difference between fear and courage is action._

Draco nodded.

 _Fear is not the curse._

"Let's go," he said, and he and Theo each put a hand on Harry Potter's shoulder, falling in line like soldiers, before being swept away in the dark.

* * *

Hermione didn't sleep well. Chalk it up to alcohol, she supposed, or to exhaustion, or to knowing that Draco was not at her side but somewhere else; somewhere digging up a grave in the midst of darkness, and in a place she'd once nearly lost Harry before.

Though, she couldn't think of places in terms of loss, she reminded herself sternly; otherwise she'd never be able to go anywhere.

"That's the spirit," Luna encouraged brightly, and Hermione groaned.

"You're not real," she said, firmly this time, if only because she was confident the real Luna would not have left Ginny's side. "Go away."

Specter-Luna smiled.

"I'm nearly gone," she offered, almost sympathetically. "Can't you feel it?"

Hermione shuddered. "Stop," she muttered, burying the word in the pillow that smelled like Draco, wishing he were there. _I'll be back,_ he'd told her, letting the words melt into her temple as he promised her impossible things. _I'm not finished with you._ "It's the middle of the night, Luna."

"Yes, well, you're awake, aren't you?" Luna asked obnoxiously, settling down next to her. "And you're always throwing them around, anyway," she added, making a face. "Why don't you ever tell me a story?"

"Because," Hermione grumbled, "you're not _really here,_ that's why."

But Luna did not seem to find this piece of information relevant, responding with a listless shrug.

"I like stories," Luna reminded her. "I'm whimsical. Besides," she added softly, almost playfully, "I can't leave until you finally tell the story you've been avoiding, you know."

At that, Hermione groaned, rolling over. She forced her eyes shut, making the effort to shove Luna at arm's length, but when she opened her eyes again, Luna had only moved, stretched out luxuriantly on her side.

"Figment of your imagination," Luna reminded Hermione, gesturing to herself. "Remember? Sort of means you can't avoid me just by physically turning around."

"You're starting to sound like me," Hermione retorted. "Are you even Luna at this point?"

"Now _that_ ," not-Luna pronounced crisply, "is an interesting question. One that we don't have time for," she clarified, and paused, tilting her head. "I suspect, anyway."

"I see you're pressed for time," Hermione noted, rolling her eyes. "Got somewhere else to be?"

"Oh, always," Luna permitted, with a gratuitously clever smile. "Now, come on," she urged, scooting closer. "Once there was a monster," she began, and stared expectantly at Hermione, who said nothing. "A _monster_ ," Luna continued, "who craved control, and who created a boy only in the day, and a girl only in the night."

She paused again, waiting, and Hermione resolutely stared at the wall behind her.

"The boy was kept separate, raised only to see the light," Luna continued, the words prompting a shiver down Hermione's spine. "And he was so steeped in sun, and his childhood so saturated by it - "

"I don't want to tell the story," Hermione erupted sharply, shaking her head, and for some reason she couldn't explain, Luna looked oddly victorious. "I'm not even certain I remember it," Hermione grumbled, disliking the knowing spark of triumph in the blonde witch's eye. "It was a long time ago, and I only ever heard it once."

Alarmingly, Luna leaned forward, offering a truly disarming smile.

"Well, then," she murmured, "let me refresh your memory," and before Hermione could inevitably decline, she felt herself yanked backwards in space, suddenly jolting back into some other version of her; hidden among the foliage, she realized, recognizing a past form of herself, and seeing the centaurs from afar.

"The end of the story, though," Bane pressed; the ill-tempered one, she remembered. "Does not the _boy_ defeat the monster?"

Hermione - all versions of her - shut her eyes.

 _Tell me again,_ she asked herself, and gently, her mind obliged.

 _The monster, having given orders, took for granted they were obeyed -_

She sped up, like toying with a dial.

 _Then it seemed to the girl that some ball of light, some source, was watching over her -_

 _The light, like herself, was seeking the way out -_

 _Abandoned, rendered unseeing and small -_

 _If only the sun would rise -_

 _She had suffered more, and for her suffering, she feared nothing -_

 _You are like live armor to my heart; you keep the fear off me -_

"There," she whispered. "Stop there - "

 _It seemed, for a time, that they stood in the midst of an unknown land, neither of them able to move a step; each supported only by the weakness of the other; each ready to fall if the other were to collapse, or be subjected to fear. But where weakness was balanced, so, too, was strength, and after a time, the day boy was revived; in the promise of the night girl's tenacity, he grew brighter in his lightness._

 _But for all that the night girl was bright, and for all that she shone in her strength, she saw the world with the eyes of an artist, and without the cold drive of the hunter; and when her need was greater, it was the day boy, whose trials seemed to pale against the light of her eyes, who sought to take aim._

"The day boy," she murmured to herself, tapping along the edges of memory. "The hunter."

 _The day boy; the hunter; so steeped in sun, was raised to hear the change in the wind, to trust the steady beat of his footsteps; to recognize a prize that called to him; and so he drew the night girl close, and on his charge, they forged ahead. Boy and girl headed towards the castle in the distance, watching it come nearer and nearer as they drew to the edge of the forest, locked in a blind embrace. They saw something coming towards them, and for a moment, the night girl, her vision tampered, was helpless in sight of it: a shadow; a tremendous beast; a monster._

"A monster," she echoed, and plunged in deeper.

 _For the monster had looked upon them, and seen them as its prey, never knowing the truth of its sightless error; that while alone, boy and girl had feared the monster's wrath, but together they feared nothing, and thus rose eternal in their joining._

 _And so, together, night and day joined hands, and in the immortality of triumph, the sun rose anew -_

"We rise, we rise - "

 _The day boy, shielding the night girl, loosened his knife in his sheath, and drew an arrow from his quiver, lest his first shot fail; he drew it back and struck, and the arrow descended to pierce the monster's heart, prompting a loud, terrifying wail -_

Hermione's eyes opened suddenly, hearing something from downstairs; a faint echo of voices that jolted her back to the present.

"Ignore it," Luna urged, flickering at her side and staring her down, oddly forceful. "Tell me the rest, Hermione."

"I - " Hermione blinked, sitting up in bed. "I can't - "

She stopped, hearing a clatter.

"Where did they go, Hermione?" Luna demanded fiercely. "Tell me where they went."

Hermione shook her head. "I - "

"Give it to me," she heard, clearer this time; an unbending voice. "Give me my wand."

Hermione blinked. "Is that Ginny?"

She tossed the sheets aside and ran, grabbing her wand from the nightstand before throwing the door open and following the sounds of voices that were coming from Draco's study.

"Give it to me," she heard Ginny say again. "Don't say anything, don't speak, just give me my fucking wand. We don't have a lot of time," she said, throwing it down like an accusation. "Don't waste a moment of it."

Hermione stumbled into the doorframe, watching Pansy and Daphne stand speechless across from Luna, who was holding both their wands, and Ginny, who had presumably had one of them - Luna, Hermione suspected - cast an _Obscuro_ to produce a blindfold over her eyes.

"Whoever that is, don't say anything," Ginny said, angling towards the door as Hermione stepped through it. "Not a word."

Hermione held her breath, her fingers tight around her wand.

"Wait," a Luna at her side whispered, warning her; holding her back for an instant. She shoved it aside. _Not you,_ she thought fiercely, careful not to make a sound.

"I made a deal," Ginny continued. "I made a deal that will end this, and I need my wand. None of you can follow," she added fiercely. " _None_. This is my choice."

"No," Daphne attempted firmly, stepping towards her. "You - "

"Stop," Ginny commanded brusquely, her voice cold. "If you don't, I'll say the name of everyone I know is here. And I know who's here," she added, and Hermione shivered, finding it strange how Ginny seemed to know where to look in the room, her obscured gaze falling slowly on each of them. "I'll tell him how to find you if you don't give it to me."

Hermione took a step forward, slowly lifting her wand, but Luna - the real one, who still stood beside Ginny - spun around, leveling hers.

 _Don't,_ she mouthed in warning, and Hermione frowned. Luna flicked her wand once, disarming Hermione without a word, and caught the wand in her free hand, never leaving her post at Ginny's side.

Daphne took another step forward. "Ginny - "

"I know what I'm doing," Ginny said, and there was something different about her voice this time; something softer. Something pleading, and it made Pansy reach out, a crinkle appearing between her eyes as she gripped Daphne's arm. "Just do it. I'm not asking."

"Gin- "

"Give it to her," Pansy muttered hoarsely, and Daphne balked, startled.

"I don't hav- "

"Not you," Pansy croaked, and Hermione realized with a start that Zacharias Smith remained in the corner of the room, his eyes slowly following the scene. "You," Pansy commanded, jutting her chin out at him. "Give her the wand."

Hermione watched as Zacharias stood, removing a wand from his pocket, and took a few slow steps towards Ginny. There was an odd fumble of an exchange as Ginny blindly reached for it, taking it within the lines of her palm, and then slid her thumb along the handle, testing it; making certain it was hers.

"Good," she pronounced with precision, taking a step back. "Nobody follow," she warned, spitting the words through her teeth, and Hermione stepped forward, ready to chase her - to follow, to force her back - when Luna set Daphne, Pansy, and Hermione's wands at her feet, lowering them just as Ginny raised her own.

"Take care of them," Ginny said, turning to Luna. The words were nearly inaudible as she spoke, but they forced Hermione to pause, wondering how much of this had been planned - and more importantly, how much more there was to it. "Tell him why, Luna - "

"I will," said Luna, but Hermione caught the motion of her finger hooking itself delicately in Ginny's robes, cleverly blending into fabric.

Luna looked up, catching Hermione's eyes on her, and held a warning finger to her lips, silencing her with a shake of her head. "Just go," Luna told Ginny loudly, and Ginny nodded, raising her wand to disapparate with a loud crack.

"Wait," they heard from the door, spinning to see a wide-eyed Cormac stumbling through it, arriving a beat too late. "What the _fuck -_ "

"You heard her," Pansy said briskly, snatching her wand from the ground where Luna had been and tossing Daphne's and Hermione's back to them, pointedly not meeting his eye. "We had no choice," she added, though she looked like she was forcing the words out as Cormac stared at her, mouth agape. "She wasn't taking no for an answ- "

He broke off with a growl, half-lunging for Pansy in frustration.

"She's turning herself over to him!" he roared, gripping tightly to Pansy's arms. "She's - you - " he stammered, his cheeks flushed with fury. "You - you fucking _let her go_ \- "

"Don't touch her," Daphne snapped, stepping between him and Pansy and holding her wand out, keeping him at bay. "Pansy's right," she said flatly, glancing experimentally at Hermione for confirmation, but Hermione only stared, speechless. "Ginny wasn't giving us a choice, so - "

"You could have stopped her!" Cormac shouted, blatantly ignoring the tip of her wand as he drew forward again, taking the point of it in his chest. "You could have knocked her out and kept her here, you could have - you could have _saved_ her - "

"She knows what she's doing," Pansy told him defensively, staring at him. "I heard her, Cormac - I heard her voice, and - "

"Fuck what you heard," Cormac growled back. "You had _no right -_ "

"No," Daphne snarled, raising her wand to brandish it in his face before stepping towards him, forcing him back. " _You_ have no right, McLaggen. You don't get to decide what happens to her. _She_ does, and - "

"Watch where you point that, Greengrass," Cormac warned darkly, his eyes locked on the tip of her wand before he pivoted sharply, heading out of the room. "Fuck this, I'm going after her - "

"Where?" Hermione asked, coming to life in time to block his exit. "You don't know where she _went_ , Cormac - "

"To _him_ , obviously," Cormac snapped, too manic to meet her eye. "To that fucking Lestrange house," he said bitterly, "and I'm going to fucking stop her before she gets herself kil- "

"She has to die," Pansy cut in blankly, shaking her head, and at that, even Hermione and Daphne paused, startled by the admission. "Let it be on her terms."

Cormac's face contorted; half rage, half pain.

"That's easy for you to fucking say," Cormac retorted hoarsely, spinning to glare at her as Pansy's mouth tightened, her teeth tearing into her lip. "Maybe _you_ won't fight for her life, Parkinson, but I'm fucking going t-"

"SHE DOESN'T LOVE YOU ENOUGH TO STAY ALIVE FOR YOU," Pansy erupted suddenly, flinging the words at him like knives. "Fucking _face it_ ," she gasped, and Hermione saw tears in her eyes, poised threateningly at the corners. "Face it, Cormac," she forced out, "she doesn't _love_ you, and - "

She took a step back, trailing off at a loss, and for a moment Cormac was stunned into silence; but when he found the words, Hermione could see the venom spouting from his tongue.

"So?" he demanded, spitting it out. "She doesn't have to love me for me to fucking love _her_. You hid a fucking _murder_ , Parkinson, and she still doesn't love you either," he yelled, pointing accusingly at Daphne, who promptly turned pale, taking a step back. "You think you're any different from me?" he pressed, aiming for her again. "Do you think you-"

"Stop," Paul commanded firmly, suddenly materializing in front of Pansy and hoisting Cormac in the air, throwing him up like a limbless doll and holding him there with the palm of his hand. "Paul is not letting you speak to Mistress that way - "

"Paul, let him down," Pansy cut in defeatedly, rubbing her forehead. She swiped once at her nose, quickly, and hid it, not making eye contact with anyone in the room. "Just - put him in his room, okay? Calm down," she added, drawing her shoulders back and addressing Cormac this time. "Just calm _the fuck_ down. Potter lived," she added, blinking vacantly. "Potter came back, and Ginny will too, so just - "

She looked up, meeting Hermione's eye, and shook her head.

"Go," she rasped, withering, and Paul snapped his fingers, promptly removing Cormac and leaving the three of them in the room.

 _Four_ , Hermione corrected, recalling Zacharias, who was still staring blankly ahead.

"Pansy," Hermione attempted, stepping towards her, but Pansy held up a hand, stopping her.

"You think you're broken because you hear voices?" she asked Hermione, forcing a harsh, humorless laugh. "I fucked him, Granger. I _fucked_ him, and right now I can't even remember why." She turned, locking eyes with Daphne, who swallowed heavily. "I'm the one that's broken," Pansy offered quietly, and Daphne's gaze softened, recognizing the apology in the glance.

"Pans - "

"Hey," Pansy said, ignoring her and snapping her fingers at Zacharias, calling him towards her. "I release you," she said, and Hermione watched as his eyes focused slightly, re-settling on Pansy's with something that looked to resemble clarity. "Whatever Weaslette's up to," Pansy told him, shaking her head, " _war_ is almost certainly coming, and I'm not going to force you to fight. I release you," she said again, and gestured to the hall. "Go."

Zacharias blinked, the effects of the Imperius subsiding, and then he turned, aiming himself through the door without hesitation.

There was a moment of stillness as he went, and then Pansy let out a guarded breath first, shaking her head.

"Well, that was - "

"I love you," Daphne interrupted, turning to her, and Hermione glanced down, angling herself away. "If I ever made you feel you weren't enough," Daphne said shakily, "it wasn't for lack of loving you. I love you, Pansy Parkinson," she said, taking a step towards her, "wholly and inescapably, and I never meant for you to doubt that for a second."

Pansy, predictably, made a meager attempt to roll her eyes. "Stop i-"

"I love you, but I release you," Daphne continued quietly. "I've asked you to fight for me too often and given you too little in return."

Pansy went rigid, torn by too-painful admissions. "That's not true."

"It _is_ ," Daphne insisted, shaking her head. "Even now, Pansy, as much as I love you, if you asked me to leave with you, I wouldn't. Call it guilt," she added. "Call it some compulsion to finish what I started, but I killed a man to get here, and - "

Daphne swallowed hard, forcing herself to continue. "And I won't _stop_ ," she continued, settling into certainty, "until I've stopped every man who was responsible for what I became. For what Ginny Weasley became," she added, gesturing where she'd been and spinning to face Hermione, "or Hermione Granger. Until the men who dragged Draco to his knees, and who sliced open Theo's arm - " she broke off, staring forcefully at something; her past, Hermione guessed.

"Until all those men are dead and gone," Daphne choked out, "I won't stop." She took a breath, steadying herself, and swallowed a mouthful of anguish. "So I release you," she exhaled, arriving at her pained conclusion. "Because I love you, Pansy, but I can't love you very well right now."

Pansy stared at her.

"Daphne," she rasped, after several moments of silence had passed. "I - "

They stopped, startled, as Zacharias poked his head in the frame, squinting at them.

"Hey," he called. "Where's the bathroom again?"

Hermione blinked. "What?"

"Oh, well I'm staying, obviously," he said, and shrugged. "The blond one saved my life, and I like that mouthy one," he added, flapping a hand to reference Pansy. "Can't remember where the bathroom is, though. She usually tells me where to go, so - "

"Down the hall," Hermione said, vacantly amused, and he tossed her an awkward salute.

"Right, then," he said, turning to leave, and then paused, backtracking. "I'm obviously staying," he said again, as though they had all been quite stupid for doubting it, and then he turned, whistling to himself as he headed down the hallway.

"Well," Daphne murmured, and Pansy shook her head, cutting her off.

"What he said," she said curtly, seeming to have found the words, and Daphne, startled at first, eventually managed a smile, the phoenix floating down to settle on her hand as she reached for Pansy's, lacing their fingers together.

"Cormac's right, you know," Daphne ventured tentatively, glancing at Hermione. "I didn't want to say so, but if Ginny turned herself in, we should - "

"There's nothing we can do," Hermione ruled unhappily, shaking her head. "Not yet, anyway. We don't know for sure where she's gone, or what she's doing, or why Luna went - "

"Are we still safe here?" Pansy asked, and Hermione shrugged, uncertain.

"I think so, but - "

"So much for using her as a lure," Daphne muttered to herself, and then looked up, addressing Hermione again. "How much do you trust her judgment?"

"Not much," Hermione admitted, contemplating the recklessness of Ginny's past and then pausing, weighing the situation. "But _Luna_ 's judgment, on the other hand - " she winced, shaking her head. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think I trust Luna to figure it out, so - " she shrugged. "So maybe there's a plan here."

"Maybe everything will be fine?" Pansy guessed, scoffing. "Keep dreaming, Granger."

"Look," Hermione sighed, pursing her lips. "I'm just saying, maybe it's not - "

She paused, cutting herself off, as she heard a knock at the door.

" - doomed," she exhaled, and Daphne flinched, grimacing.

"Spoke too soon," she murmured, clinging tightly to Pansy's fingers for the span of a breath before gradually untangling them, one by one, and taking a ruthless step forward.

* * *

The graves beyond the little church were eerily quiet; for a man who believed in ghosts - who'd seen the dead rise, in fact - Draco was surprised to find himself so unutterably uncomfortable.

Though he'd never warmed up to the Bloody Baron, so perhaps it wasn't really his fault.

"Over here," Harry murmured, nudging them. He'd explained that he'd only been there once before, and hadn't been paying attention when he'd been, but even without his experience, there was an obvious location for the graves. Part of the cemetery was far older, and beneath the flickering _Lumos_ from Potter's wand, they could see the crumbling age of the headstones regressing as they made their way through it. "See," Harry said, gesturing to it. "You can just barely make it out - "

Draco crouched, squinting over it. "This is Ignotus," he said, running his fingers over the carving to be sure, and Theo stepped to the one beside it.

"Cadmus," he confirmed, and Draco caught the shadow of a grimace. "Which one do you want," he proposed, turning to Draco, "the one who committed suicide for love, or the one who died holding hands with Death?" He paused, tilting his head as he stared into space. "Nevermind," he said, shaking his head. "I hear it."

"I don't care which one," Draco confirmed, shaking his head. "Let's just - " he growled in frustration for lack of a decent plan, stepping back to assess. "Just - how do we get them open?"

"Shockingly, I've never desecrated a grave before," Theo muttered in retort, stepping towards it with his wand out; Harry sighed, curling a hand around Theo's arm and forcing him to pause.

"If we blast it open, we'll need a _Muffliato_ as well," Harry said. "Unless you're willing to chance using your Ministry-tracked wands, I'm pretty fucking sure my wand can't do both spells at once."

"So we have to dig, then," Draco said, feeling his innards convulse at the concept but proceeding anyway, figuring it was too late to turn back. "Cast the silencing spell," he exhaled, shuddering, "and we'll just do this like muggles."

"To be clear, muggles don't do this, but sure," Harry permitted, glancing around. "Fine." He zeroed in on something, heading over to the newer graves and leaving them briefly in darkness as he returned, having found a shovel lain beside a fresher grave. "Here," he said, picking it up and handing it to Draco, and then transfigured a branch into a similar instrument for Theo. "You two dig," he instructed, turning towards the road. "I'll keep watch."

"Too good for grave robbing, I take it," Theo muttered, shaking his head. " _Fine_ , Lord Potter, whatever you want - "

"Shut up," Draco snapped impatiently, and then took a deep breath, angling the shovel beneath the headstone and trying not to vomit when it crumbled easily, giving way. "Just dig."

It was strenuous, unpleasant work - made worse by the fact that Draco hadn't fully healed from his torture at the hands of the Dark Lord - but still, after a while, there was something abhorrently soothing about it; about breaking the ground beneath his feet. It felt steady, rhythmic, and despite everything Draco felt strong, felt determined, and at his side, Theo mimicked his pattern, both of them falling into a pattern of synchronized motions.

"Use your knees more," Harry hissed to Theo, glancing aside. "You're making my back ache."

"I'll make your face ache," Theo growled back, miming a blow to his head with the shovel, and Harry rolled his eyes.

"You think this will work?" Harry asked agitatedly, his voice hushed as he tapped his fingers impatiently against his thigh. "What if these wands are - "

"What, _unbeatable_?" Theo supplied drily, pausing to wipe sweat from his forehead. "There's no such thing as an unbeatable wand, Potter."

"Sure there is," Draco said, gritting his teeth as he struck a layer that was nearly as dense as rock. "Potter," he hissed, " _do_ something - "

Harry glanced around, checking for movement, and then quickly obliged, the light momentarily going out as he blew through the layer of dirt.

"No, Nott's right," he said, once he returned to his watch. "There's a line of violence that follows the Elder Wand. Maybe the wand itself can't lose," he postulated, shrugging, "but the person attached to it is certainly not fucking immortal - "

"How does it work, then?" Theo pressed, digging his shovel in with his foot. "Say you have the Elder Wand," he suggested with a grunt, "and we both cast an _Avada_. How the fuck does the wand manage to win?"

"Fuck if I know," Harry said, shrugging. "I'll ask Hermione."

At that, Draco couldn't prevent a chuckle, pausing to brush his hair out of his eyes.

"You think the rest of it is real?" he asked, jabbing the shovel into the ground again. "The stone, I mean," he said, "and the cloak."

"Dunno," Harry said, a little too quickly, and Theo shifted upright, pausing suddenly.

"You're lying," he said flatly, and Draco paused, looking back at Harry for his reaction.

"Am not," Harry said, and Theo shook his head.

"You _are_ ," he countered gruffly. "Your pulse races when you lie. I can feel it," he added, thudding his fist pointedly against his chest. "You're nervous. You're nervous because you're fucking _lying_ , Potter, and - " Theo turned towards him, a curious expression on his face. "Potter," Theo ventured, his voice permitting a rare tone of incredulity, "you fucking _have the Hallows_ , don't you?"

"Not anymore," Harry replied reflexively, and then paused, clearing his throat. "I mean - " he grimaced. "No."

"Fuck," Theo said, as Draco shook his head, returning to the process of digging. "You can stop lying, you little shit. You _had_ them, then, didn't you? That cloak of yours - "

"Fine, the cloak," Harry muttered. "But You-Know-Who has the wand."

"And the stone?" Theo pressed.

"I lost it," Harry said, and Draco groaned aloud.

"Of _course_ you came to possess it," he muttered, "and of _course_ you manage to lo-"

He stopped, breathless, as the shovel hit wood.

"Coffin," he said, and they immediately abandoned conversation as Theo jumped down into Draco's grave, helping him remove the final layer of dirt and then, on a tacit count of three, wrenching it open.

"Fuck," Theo said, coughing, as the smell of the corpse inside began to waft into the air. "This is an experience I could have lived without - "

"Got the wand," Draco said, picking it up and then rapidly slamming the coffin shut. "Ignotus' wand."

"Well?" Theo demanded, scrambling out of the grave and yanking Draco out after him, staring expectantly at him. "Does it - do you feel - "

"Nothing," Draco said, frowning, as he considered it in his palm, tossing his own wand back into the grave and weighing the new one. "I mean, nothing noticeable, but I haven't tried to - "

"Give it to Theo," Harry interrupted, and Theo glanced at him, bewildered. Harry shrugged, looking oddly certain. "Just take it, Nott."

Theo blinked, but at another prod from Harry, he held out his hand, waiting. Draco, obligingly, set it down in his palm.

The instant the wood touched the lines of Theo's hand, there was a swell of wind in the graveyard; a shift in space and time that manifested a change in the air. Theo closed his fingers around the handle, his breath caught, and stared up at Harry, disbelieving.

"I'm sure this isn't relevant," Harry commented, clearing his throat, "but I'm a descendent of Ignotus Peverell."

Theo's eyes narrowed.

"I'll keep that in mind for Harry Potter trivia night," he muttered, and aimed the wand at the grave of the second brother. "Cast a silencing spell, Potter - "

Harry nodded, and Theo cast an impressively effective blasting curse, blowing through to the grave beneath the dirt as Draco leapt down to the coffin that had belonged to Cadmus Peverell.

"Well, similar smell," he ruled, coughing, and yanked the wand from the corpse's hand, choking on the stale rot in the air as he replaced it with Theo's. "Fuck, this is - "

"Draco," Theo said, pointing, and Draco looked down, watching the wand glow in his palm.

"Huh," he said, feeling it warm to his touch. "This is - "

Behind them, there was a cracking sound, and they pivoted rapidly, turning over their shoulders.

"Someone's bound to have noticed something by now. Set it right," Harry whispered urgently, pointing to the graves. "Let's get out of here - "

It was a flurry of haphazard spells but then the graves were restored, the headstones clumsily replaced; Draco grabbed Theo's shoulder and yanked him back, reaching for Harry to apparate back to his house, but hesitated a moment when a glow of illumination suddenly began to emanate from the church behind them, casting their shadows on the graves.

"Well," came a coldly familiar voice, the sound of it sending a tremor of fear up Draco's spine as a wordless curse split the three of them up, tearing his hand from Theo's shoulder and sliding warningly around his neck. "This is very interesting, isn't it?"

Draco blinked, fighting for breath, as the Dark Lord stepped into view, flanked by Amycus, Rowle, and Mulciber.

"And to think," Lord Voldemort murmured, "I thought I was just coming for Ginevra."

There was a second crack that tore through the night and then Ginny Weasley landed hard on her feet, bracing herself, as Luna Lovegood tumbled from her side. It was difficult to make out from a distance, but Ginny appeared to be wearing a blindfold; she spelled it back from her eyes, throwing it aside as she stepped forward.

"You came," she told the Dark Lord, half-taunting. "Leave them alone," she warned, gesturing to Draco, Harry, and Theo, and Draco blinked, his breath returning to his lungs with a crash just as Luna's silhouette suddenly disappeared from view.

"Fuck," Theo breathed, sucking in a gasp, and Harry took a rapid step towards Ginny.

"No," Ginny said, whipping her wand aside and tossing the three of them onto their backs, colliding with a series of tombs as vines curled around them, holding them in place. "Stay back," she commanded sharply, though their restraints accomplished that on their own.

Draco strained his eyes again for Luna Lovegood, but was certain he'd lost track of her; clearly she had either disillusioned herself or hidden behind one of the headstones, biding her time.

He wondered whose time she was biding.

He wondered how much time they had.

"He won't kill me," Ginny continued at a murmur, turning back to Lord Voldemort. "Will you? But _I_ will," she taunted, holding her wand to her temple. "You cast one spell before I say so and I'll cast the _Avada_ myself - "

"Ginevra," Lord Voldemort sighed, taking a calculated step towards her as the Rowle and Mulciber looked uneasy, their shoulders tensing as they waited for orders. "I see you've made good on our deal."

"I have," she said. "I told you I would bring you Harry Potter, and I did. You can deal with them later," she added, gesturing behind her to where they wrestled with the bounds that held them in place, her wand still at her temple. "For now, it's just you and me."

The Dark Lord smiled invitingly.

"The trick with the Draught was clever, I'll give you that," he told her, taking another step, and Draco watched as Ginny's eyes darted to Nagini, who slithered on the ground at the Dark Lord's feet, slipping between the Death Eaters. "Not for nothing that I've kept you close, Ginevra. And you couldn't keep me out for long," he murmured, stepping closer. "Could you?"

Ginny's face stiffened, her mouth a thin line.

"I invited you in," she told him, setting her jaw firmly. "Be sure you remember that, Tom."

 _I need to tell you about something called a horcrux,_ Draco heard Hermione whisper, _and a man called Tom Riddle -_

He waited, holding his breath.

 _Powerful wizards are nothing but smoke and mirrors -_

"Be sure you tell the story correctly," Ginny said, so quietly it was hardly over a whisper. "I want you to remember," she added, taking a step towards him this time, "that I lured you in."

The Dark Lord's eyes flashed warningly; the other Death Eaters stepped forward, but he held out a hand, keeping them at bay.

"Don't toy with me, Ginevra," he warned her, cocking his head impassively. "Or perhaps I won't be so kind when I take you back."

"I didn't come for you to take me back," she said, and turned, finding Harry's eye. "You know what to do," she told him, and he stared at her, wordlessly shaking his head in opposition before she turned back to the Dark Lord, her eyes glinting with certainty.

"You thought I was a toy," Ginny said, her voice hoarse. "I'm not a toy, Tom Riddle," she announced, her fingers tightening around her wand. "I'm your biggest mistake."

At that, the Dark Lord seemed to finally lose his patience.

"Ginevra," he snarled, holding his wand out as Nagini slithered between his feet, hissing warningly at Ginny. "Disarm he-"

" _Accio_ knife," she shouted, aiming her wand, and Amycus' knife flew towards her, landing with a hiss of suction against her palm. He tried to counter the spell, flicking his wand, but was disarmed by something they couldn't see; he spun, staring into the dark, but stumbled, losing his footing as Mulciber and Rowle advanced.

"You think it's the worst thing to die, Tom Riddle," Ginny said, laughing, as she held the knife to her own throat, forcing him to pause mid-stride. "I pity you for that."

"You're not going to die, Ginevra," he hissed. "I won't let you."

Ginny looked down, licking her lips as she smiled at Nagini.

"Come on," she beckoned, laughing. "Let's dance, you and I."

"No," Lord Voldemort gasped, his eyes widening. "No, Ginevra - GINEVRA - "

Nagini lunged in the same moment that Ginny did, teeth sinking into her arm as Ginny twisted, burying the poisoned knife in the snake's coiled mass in the same moment that Voldemort sank to his knees, howling in some intangible pain.

The moment Ginny stabbed the snake, the vines holding Draco, Theo, and Harry in place disappeared, freeing them, and Harry took off at a run, scrambling to reach his displaced wand as Draco and Theo hurried to follow, jointly holding Mulciber and Rowle at bay.

Amycus, seeing an opening, charged forward, picking his wand up from the ground and lunging for Ginny, who laughed, inviting it.

"NO," the Dark Lord roared, forcing himself forward from the ground. "Do not touch her - DO NOT TOUCH HER, SHE'S _MINE_ \- "

Draco, meanwhile, was grateful the wand he'd dug up worked nearly as well as his own, if not better; Mulciber was difficult to hold off but he held his own, throwing up a _Protego_ in time watch Harry stumble over to Ginny's side.

"Do it, Harry," Ginny begged, turning to face him from where she lay on the ground, her eyes wide as the blood from the snake's bite began to soak through her robes. "You know what has to happen, Harry. I'm ready, I'm ready for it, please don't let it be slow - "

"Ginny," he gasped, reaching for her. "Ginny, _please -_ "

"KILL HIM," Voldemort roared, and suddenly Luna Lovegood reappeared, her wand aimed at Ginny's chest.

"Stay back, Harry," she said, thrusting him aside wandlessly; he slammed into a headstone and Theo let out a shout of pain, stunning Rowle and then lunging for Harry's side as Draco threw another _Protego_ around them, buying them time.

"Come on," he shouted, beckoning for Luna and Ginny to follow, but the other two weren't listening; Luna was facing Ginny, her wand out, and Ginny was clutching her wounded arm, the knife in her bloodied palm discarded on the ground.

"Luna," Ginny panted, shaking her head as she spoke through gritted teeth, the wound in her arm clearly paining her. "I told you - I _told_ you to stay - "

Luna dropped to her knees beside her, taking one of Ginny's hands even as she kept her wand aimed at Ginny's chest.

"I told you I wouldn't let you do this alone," Luna countered fiercely, a wild look in her eye as she held tight to Ginny's hand. "I promised you that you wouldn't be alone, Ginny Weasley, and you're _not_ \- "

"I can't hold this for much longer," Draco roared to them, his muscles beginning to ache from effort as he watched Rowle stir, blinking back the effects of Theo's spell as Mulciber threw spell after spell in their direction. "We have to get out, _now -_ "

"Just do it," Ginny spat forcefully, her hands shaking as she pressed her forehead to Luna's. "Do it _now_ , Luna, _please -_ "

Ginny turned, speaking something in her ear, and Luna's face faltered for a moment, anguished, before hardening to determination.

" _Avada Kedavra_ ," Luna shouted, and Ginny fell back, going limp in Luna's arms as Harry and the Dark Lord both let out terrible, inhuman screams.

* * *

"Neville?" Hermione asked, blinking in disbelief. "Seamus, Dean, _Hannah_ \- " She lunged forward, throwing her arms around them one by one and practically dragging them in through the door. "What are you - how did you - "

"Luna told us how to find you," Neville said, glancing around the house. "Is Blaise here?"

"Here," Blaise said, materializing on the steps and striding forward, shaking his head in disbelief. "God, Longbottom, it's good to see you - "

Pansy and Daphne watched, waiting, as the last remains of the Order slowly acknowledged the others, nodding as Viktor and Cassius also appeared on the stairs; a tenuous alliance, Hermione noted, that had grown from desperation, forging itself in handshakes and embraces.

"We have the thing Luna wanted," Neville said, holding up a copy of what looked like the Daily Prophet. "It's just a mock-up, but if we leave now, I'm pretty sure we can break in and hijack today's paper before it gets distributed - "

"What is it?" Hermione asked, taking it from him. It was a front page that featured, in bold type:

 _ **THE CHOSEN ONE RETURNS: FROM THE ASHES, REDEMPTION WILL RISE**_

"Give me that," Pansy said, grabbing part of the page to read it over Hermione's shoulder. "This - what is this?"

"It looks like she wrote an article before she left," Hermione muttered in response, trying to read as rapidly as she could. "This details what remains of the Order." She scanned it quickly, reading an account of events that must have been Luna's invention; an attack in a cemetery, she realized, noting discomfort at the thought but forcing it aside. "She had to have known they'd never print this - "

"That's why she did it," Neville said, and Seamus nodded his agreement.

"It's a call to action," he supplied. "It's meant to force people out of hiding."

"There's got to be things hidden throughout," Hermione murmured. "Meeting places, safehouses." She shook her head. "Knowing Luna, it has to be filled with clues, so - "

"Wait," Daphne interrupted, pulling the edge of the page from Hermione's other side. "This says two women were killed by the Dark Lord _last night_ ," she read, looking up. "Meaning - what, right _now_?" She blinked, shaking her head. "Who?"

Neville looked at Seamus, who shook his head. "We don't know," he said, frowning. "We just followed her instructions, so - "

"From when?" Hermione asked, and Dean shrugged.

"A couple of hours ago," he said. "Isn't she - " he frowned. "Shouldn't she have told you that?"

Viktor frowned, stepping forward. "Where is Luna now?" he asked, his voice gruff with impatience. "Is she not with you?"

"She's with - " Hermione swallowed, and beside her, Pansy's grip on her shoulder tightened. "She's with Ginny," she realized, and let the parchment fall from her hands.

* * *

Blood from Ginny's arm stained Luna's forehead as she swiped the back of her hand across it, looking up to find Harry. "Run," she shouted, as he struggled to his feet, reaching out for her. "Harry, you have to _run -_ "

In the same moment - in a disturbing, percussive confirmation of Luna's instruction - Amycus cast a blasting curse that took out the remainder of Draco's shield spell, sending all of them careening backwards; Draco nearly missed it, watching through bleary eyes as the Dark Lord, tearing towards her from his knees, lunged forward, grabbing the knife that had slipped from Ginny's hand and burying it in Luna's ribs, twisting it firmly as she gasped.

"NO," Harry yelled, as Luna's eyes widened, struggling to free the knife from her chest. She swayed sideways, collapsing over Ginny with her hand on the handle, and Harry struggled to his feet, running for her. "LUNA - "

Draco yanked Theo up, aiming an _Expulso_ at Mulciber's feet and watching both him and Rowle get thrown backwards as they raced towards Harry. He raised his wand again, prepared to throw another curse, when the Dark Lord slammed both him and Theo into the graves behind them, dizzying him on impact.

"I can cast an _Avada_ , Tom," Harry roared, aiming something at the Dark Lord that he only narrowly missed, stumbling to counter it. " _My_ soul can fucking take it," Harry shouted, the words so wrecked with pain that Draco could nearly taste it; could nearly drown in it, doused from above. "Can yours?"

Voldemort grimaced, casting him aside and staring down as Harry let out a howl of pain. "You won't survive this time, Harry Potter," he said, and disapparated, the others following as Harry lunged blindly at the space he had been.

"COME BACK," Harry shouted, falling onto his hands and knees. "IT'S JUST YOU AND ME NOW, TOM - "

"Harry," Theo croaked, stumbling towards him; Draco watched him hold one hand to his chest, clutching it, as if its contents were being ripped apart. "Harry, he's gone - he's _gone_ \- "

Theo pulled Harry towards him, pinning Harry's back against his chest, containing him.

"He's gone, Harry - "

Draco ran to Luna's side, eyeing the knife that was still in her chest; her pulse was faint, and fading.

"Theo," he shouted. "Harry, come here - "

He felt them land on either side of him as Harry fumbled for his _vitae_ knife, preparing to hold it to his wrist. "It worked before," Harry muttered, "I just have to - "

"No," Theo said, grabbing his wrist and stopping him. "You can't lose any more time, Potter, you can't give yourself away like that - "

Harry tried to wrench himself free but Theo held fast, unbending. "I _have_ to - "

"Don't," Luna choked out, struggling to breathe, and all three of them inhaled sharply, turning to look at her.

"What about Weasley?" Draco asked, turning to Harry with desperation. "You survived. Will she?"

"Yes," Harry erupted wildly. "Yes, she has to - she has to come back - "

"She's - not," Luna said, her eyes fluttering shut, and Harry shifted to take her in his arms, pressing his hands frantically to the wound at her ribs; the poison had spread, and the knife itself was buried. "Ran the scenarios," she forced out, giving him a weak smile, as if she felt it necessary to explain. "Whoever killed - they'd - "

"Whoever killed Ginny," Harry said, swiping roughly at his eyes as he forced a nod, realizing in the same moment Draco did that there was nothing they could do. "They'd get killed."

She gave him a grimacing sort of smile, equally pleased and pained.

I - " she shut her eyes, her head tipping back. "I - "

"I love you, too," Harry said, shaking his head. "I always loved you, I'll always love you - " He bent his head, resting his forehead against her hands. "You made me happy, Luna, you made me _brave_ \- "

Theo shifted, gripping tightly to the back of Harry's neck, stabilizing him, and Luna Lovegood smiled, satisfied, before she shuddered and went limp.

Draco, feeling sick, forced himself to his feet, taking a few steps away and breathing hard; processing the loss.

It was a loss, he knew, that he scarcely deserved to feel, but did; it was a loss made up of things that had become so _fucking_ personal that all he could do was suffer them, one by one, and hope he could survive.

"She's gone," he heard Theo say after a moment, pulling Harry away. "She's gone now."

"No," Harry said, his voice shaking. "No, she's not - she can't - "

"She's gone," Theo said again, pulling Harry against his chest and holding him firmly, almost brusquely; as if doing so could prove a point, or start a war. "They're both gone, Harry - "

Harry let out an anguished, incoherent shout of pain, pounding a fist into Theo's chest; and then, after a few seconds of embattled fury, Harry went limp against him, the sound of his breath burying itself in Theo's neck as he coiled his fingers desperately in Theo's shirt, both of them suffering in concert.

Draco, feeling empty and torn, looked down at Luna's face, and then at the wand in his hand, catching the glow of the sun coming up on the horizon.

Luna Lovegood hadn't been dragged, he thought; she _went_ , willingly, and she'd bought them a win by doing it. She'd known retaliation was eminent for Ginny Weasley's death, and so she took it, making certain nobody else would have to.

She hadn't been dragged.

 _The only difference between fear and courage is action_ , he heard her say, and it flooded him; floored him.

 _Fear itself is not the curse._

"Come on," he said, wrenching the words from his throat and reaching down, dragging the other two to their feet. "Let's go."

 _The only difference between fear and courage is action._

 _Fear itself is not the curse._

 _The darkness creeps into me,_ he thought, _seeping into my skin and my thoughts -_

But the other two gripped his hands, unfailing; and all at once, together, they rose.

* * *

By the time Draco, Theo, and Harry arrived alone, with Harry looking even older than before, Hermione was well past shock and firmly into the realm of grief; she wished, painfully, as she wrapped her arms around Harry's too-narrow ribs, that she could have spoken one last time to Luna, spectral or not.

She felt painfully alone, and so she gripped Harry tighter, shifting to speak in his ear as he dug his fingers into her spine, holding on.

"Once there was a king," she told him. "A tyrant."

"A monster," Harry said hoarsely, and she swallowed a breath of sorrow, closing her eyes as she felt Draco's hand close gently around her shoulder.

"The king believed in power above all things," she murmured, "and when his power had been chipped away, he was compelled to restore himself; to do so by finding a wife, a partner; a princess from his past whose power matched his. The princess, in her despair, begged for help, and so her fairy godmother advised her not to give into the king's whims until he had given her three seemingly impossible things: the keys to his kingdom, the root of his magic, and lastly, a piece of his fractured soul."

She felt Harry shudder, but pressed on.

"The king, desperate to possess the princess to use her for his own gain, agreed to her demands, giving her not only his kingdom and his magic, but also presenting the princess with his soul as if it were a skin, to be worn over her true identity. He meant to keep her as a prisoner, but the princess was too strong to be held in chains. She bore his soul like a mask," she whispered, "and though it chipped away at her, she managed to escape, and hid herself that he might not find her."

"In her absence, she was discovered by a prince, a former love, and he offered her marriage, pronouncing that he would protect her from the king's ill-wishes; but the princess knew that so long as she wore the tyrannical king's soul, she would never be free of him." Hermione paused, aching, and tried to catch her breath. "But the king did not know that she was far stronger than he, and would not be defeated by his weaknesses; for though the king craved power, the princess craved only virtue, and goodness; and when the time came, her fairy godmother, who had pledged to stand by her side, helped the princess to sacrifice herself beneath the skin she wore, so that - "

She paused. "So that when the king met his end," she finished softly, "he would be weaker for her strength."

She felt Harry convulse quietly in her arms and held him tighter, feeling Draco's hand slip as he stepped towards the others.

"We have to get to him now," Draco said quietly, and she heard indications of agreement, murmurs of consent. "Who knows what he could be doing," he added darkly, shaking his head. "We have to find him while we know he's weak, while we know he's _vulnerable_ \- "

"Where?" Cassius asked, and Blaise shook his head, equally adrift. "He could be anywhere, Malfoy, so - "

 _Where did they go, Hermione?_

She heard Luna's voice in her mind and held her breath.

 _Tell me where they went -_

 _I don't know,_ she thought, but forced herself to listen; to replay it, as Luna had done.

 _The day boy; the hunter; so steeped in sun,_ she thought, forcing herself back a step, _was raised to hear the change in the wind, to trust the steady beat of his footsteps; to recognize a prize that called to him, and so he drew the night girl close, and on his charge, they forged ahead -_

 _Boy and girl headed towards the castle in the distance,_ she remembered, _watched it come nearer and nearer as they drew to the edge of the forest -_

"I know where he's going," Hermione said, her eyes snapping open, and she exhaled deeply, pulling back to meet Harry's eye, taking his face in her palms. "He's going to Hogwarts."

Harry's expression hardened.

"He's going to Hogwarts," he agreed, licking his lips as rebellion lined itself around his mouth.

* * *

 **a/n:** Doesn't seem right to dedicate this one to anyone. There are approximately two long chapters remaining. If you are needing something lighter, _How to Win Friends and Influence People_ should update later today. Story inspiration for this chapter comes from _Donkey Skin_ by Charles Perrault, suggested by the wonderful mildred-meadowlark.


	30. The Rubble and the Rising

**Chapter 30: The Rubble and the Rising**

The first time Hermione Granger looked at the facade of Hogwarts Castle, it had a distinctly visible sheen to it; a gleam of _newness,_ despite its age. She was nearly twelve years old at the time, wearing robes still crisp from purchase and clinging to the thought of new ink and parchment and books; to the glimmer of starting over. The castle shone that night, welcomed her, arms open. She sat in the boat upon the lake and floated, inside and out, and pondered her life, her future.

Her _magic_.

She remembered standing outside the castle the day she knew she wasn't coming back; remembered leaving it not long after Dumbledore's funeral. It looked sad, she thought, or else especially _fixed,_ and she had never been more conscious of the fact that it was made of stone. Perhaps it made it easier to leave that way. Perhaps it had done her a favor. She remembered the stairs had not shifted at all that day; it was as if the castle itself had mourned, lethargic, and like many of its inhabitants, could not be brought to its feet.

On the second of May in 1998, the castle had loomed. It seemed to know that war had been brought to its doorstep, and Hermione had pressed her fingers to the walls, feeling anxiety within the cracks. _Hush,_ she wanted to say, wanting to feel it purr contentedly beneath her fingers, but she couldn't quite gather the nerve. She'd been frightened enough herself to feel the cracks in her own foundation, the unsteady beat of her heart, and couldn't have managed it, her thoughts less with the castle itself than with those inside it; those who would later fall, and never leave.

That was the last time she'd been inside, and now she wished she'd taken that moment to console it, even for an instant. It looked like a prison, now, or a prisoner. _I know what that feels like,_ she told it silently, staring from the forest's edge.

 _We've changed, you and I._

"Tell me," Draco had said to her quietly as he was pulling on clothes early that morning, changing out of his blood-spattered shirt from the graveyard. "Is there something in your battalion of tales about a storyteller?"

Hermione paused, considering it, as she pulled on a pair of Pansy's slim trousers.

"There is, actually," she said, muttering a spell to adjust the taller woman's hem and straightening, frowning into space. "I don't know that we have time for it, though."

She tried not to shiver at the thought; at the idea of having time, or _not_ having it, as the case may be. Time was a thing she'd never possessed, and certainly could not reliably predict now. It seemed foolish to even discuss it. To discuss anything.

She stopped, feeling lost and uncertain, and Draco must have caught the look in her eye.

"Let me guess," Draco murmured, coming up behind her to press his lips to the back of her neck. "Does she defeat a monster, or love a prince?"

Hermione took a breath, letting him rest his chin in the dip of her shoulder. "Both," she said softly, and he nodded, waiting. "There was a king," she explained. "A king whose heart had been betrayed, and so he hardened it, taking a wife each night and then killing her in the morning, doing so each day for a thousand nights. And after a thousand women had died, and the king himself was nearly lost to his own pain, he took a storyteller for a wife; a scholar, who was witty and well-read, who conjured up a plan for her survival." She leaned her head back, resting it against Draco's chest. "Each night she would tell the king a story and then she would stop, ending the tale at daybreak, so that the king would keep her alive another day, just to hear her stories. And this continued, day after day, until after a thousand and one stories - "

"He fell in love with her," Draco guessed, and while Hermione had grown accustomed to the feel of his pulse thudding in time with hers, beating comfortingly against her spine, hers seemed to skip, to leap, to falter, and for a moment they drifted apart only to synchronize again, her heart catching up with his.

"Yes," she said. "He did."

He nodded, his chin digging into the side of her neck.

"Someday," he murmured, "will you tell me what all the stories meant?"

 _Yes,_ she wanted to say instantly, _yes, I'll tell you everything -_

"Hard to imagine the possibility of 'someday' at the moment," she confessed instead, and he sighed, pressing his lips to her jaw. "This is a new war for you," she reminded him, turning in his arms to draw her fingers along his cheek, "but I've been fighting it for a very long time."

The words seemed to weigh on him.

"I won't promise you that this is the last war you ever fight," he said. "I can't promise you that. But I promise you I will keep fighting." He leant his forehead against hers, shaking his head. "Every time you've entered my life, I've been presented with a turn," he reminded her, "and I have faced you with indecision - "

"And now?" she asked, swallowing.

He leaned forward to kiss her slowly, the swell of his lips brushing hers and then deepening, his fingers tightening on her waist.

"If you lose," he murmured, "I lose."

"I'd rather not lose," she whispered, and he smirked, or he smiled, or whatever it was that warmed his cheeks and lit his eyes, and she felt certain the bow of his lips had been made to comfort her, to wrap around her when she felt small.

"I'm not finished with you," he had promised then, taking her hands in his and delivering his breath to the tips of her fingers, swearing it. "I'll never be finished with you."

And though Hermione Granger had grown quite skeptical of promises, however pretty they were, she found she clung most closely to that one, staring at the castle from the forest's edge.

How strange to be on this side of the castle this time; to feel like an outsider in her home. The last place, she realized, that had really _felt_ like home, only now it was warded and guarded and thoroughly out of reach, and it didn't belong to her.

Perhaps it had never belonged to her, and the loyalty had only been one sided. History had written her out, after all, hadn't?

She wondered if the castle remembered.

She felt Draco come up behind her again, his hand curling around her shoulder.

"Are they ready?" she asked, not looking at him. She felt him nod his confirmation.

"McLaggen, Flint, and Wood are all staying behind," he said, and she nodded in response. It had been her idea, after all. "They unflagged every known Order member or sympathizer and are posting themselves and other Snatchers they trust at the locations Luna mentioned in the hijacked Prophet article. That way," he exhaled, the words escaping shakily, "even if we don't succeed here - "

"There'll be minimized retaliation," she agreed, nodding again. "The revolution lives on," she added, still staring up at the castle's silhouette against the sky. "Even if we don't."

"I don't think you're giving us enough credit," Harry cut in, coming to stand at her other side. "We've come this far, haven't we?"

"Ah, boundless optimism," Theo commented drily, joining them, never too far from Harry's side since whatever they'd been through at the graveyard. "I'd nearly forgotten what we brought you along for."

"Whereas _you_ are here for what, exactly?" Harry prompted.

"Comic relief," Theo offered plainly, and Hermione felt Harry mutter something brusquely under his breath. "So," Theo continued loudly, jutting his chin up at Hogwarts. "How are we going to get through all of this - " he trailed off, selecting the word carefully. "Armor?"

Hermione shook her head, uncertain.

"How'd they break down the wards last time?" Draco prompted, glancing between her and Harry.

 _They._ Even he seemed to hear it, shifting awkwardly.

What a strange alliance they had become.

"An unbeatable wand, for one thing," Harry explained. "Hundreds of wizards and creatures, for another."

"Well, get to it then, Potter," Draco said gruffly, and Harry rolled his eyes, turning.

"I'll ask Blaise if he's got any ideas," he said, and reached over, nudging Theo. "Come on, Nott - "

"Ah, I see, you're _also_ here to boss me around," Theo announced loudly, and they turned, trudging through the forest. In their absence, Draco and Hermione continued to look up at the castle walls; still watching closely, as though under their scrutiny it might change.

"Do you think it will ever forgive me for what I've done?" Draco asked in her ear, and though he so often buried his intentions in wit or turns of phrase, the question was almost childlike in its innocence; fearful, and full of wonder, of awe and remorse.

"I think it would, if you asked for it," Hermione said, though she wasn't sure. Hadn't she just been wondering something similar? As if the castle were more than a home; as if it were a pet, or a friend - or something _alive_ -

"Alive," she repeated to herself, turning the word over on her tongue. She paused in thought, but Draco seemed not to notice.

"Theo said something once," he commented, sorting through his own memories. "Something about the castle being in pain, and I wondered if he'd been right."

Hermione frowned, half an idea still forming itself in her mind as she watched the glimmer of the castle's protective wards, every so often iridescently visible in a certain shift of light.

"Of course," Draco continued, shaking his head, "I know it's only stone, but - "

"You're a magical being," Hermione realized all at once, cutting him off and spinning to face him. "I cross back and forth between a line of what can exist and what I've seen, but _you_ were born into this world - "

"What's going on?" Draco asked, frowning. "What's this?"

"Your house," she told him forcefully, the concept still forming as she looked at him. "It knew you needed extra rooms. It closed the Floo networks when you needed them shut, when you needed to be _safe_ , so - "

"It's sentient," he agreed. "Like the castle," he added, gesturing to it, "but still, I'm not - I don't understand - "

"It would if you _asked for it_ ," she interrupted excitedly, aiming herself towards Harry and Theo in the forest; she paused, though, for the briefest moment, as she noticed something different about Draco from when they'd left the house that morning.

"Where did you get that?" she asked, pointing to the object slung around his torso, and he sighed, raising his hands helplessly.

"Long story," he said.

* * *

 _ **One Hour Earlier**_

* * *

"Wards," Blaise commented grimly, shading his eyes as he looked up at the castle. The sun was still faint in the distance, the morning still preternaturally youthful. "He's definitely in there. They have every protective enchantment the castle possesses sealing them inside."

"Of course he's in there," Theo scoffed. "Granger said it, so it must be true."

Draco, who very much agreed, permitted half a smile.

"Where is she?" Harry asked, glancing around. "This can't be easy for her," he commented worriedly, glancing at Draco.

"It's not," Draco agreed, thinking of the solemn expression on her face that morning, and the doubt he'd witnessed in her for the first time. "But I think she'll feel better if we can pull together something of a plan, don't you?"

"I very rarely have one," Harry muttered, shaking his head, but he turned dutifully to Cormac. "You sure you can trust these other Snatchers?"

Cormac nodded. The man's cheeks were sunken in, eyes bloodshot, but he was sober; perhaps more sober than he'd been in his entire life, if Draco had to guess. Luna had left behind a series of memories - messages to those for whom things had been left unsaid - and Draco was almost certain that whatever Ginny hadn't been able to say to Cormac before she'd gone, she'd made sure Luna had rectified the absence. While Harry had emerged from his vial of memories - Draco's house, of course, having conjured a pensieve for their viewing pleasure - looking steady, hardened, sure, and meeting Theo's questioning glance with a firm nod of certainty, Cormac had left the room with swollen eyes, dust on his knees from the aged beams of the floor.

"I'm sure," Cormac confirmed, and Cassius stepped forward with a nod.

"You can trust Flint and Wood," he assured Harry. "And they have people they can trust, too."

"No matter what happens, the war's bigger than whatever happens at this castle," Harry warned, filling his role as commander. "A lot of Snatchers have been rewarded for their service, and there's no guarantee that'll change even if You-Know-Who falls."

"You can start saying his name again," Cormac told Harry, gesturing to the enchanted map on his wrist. "I disabled the taboo, and Rowle hasn't fixed it, so I'm guessing it's not a priority."

"You disabled a Ministry taboo?" Draco echoed, surprised, and Cormac shrugged.

"I'm not an idiot," he said flatly.

"No, you're not," Harry agreed, reaching out to grip his arm. "And we're going to kill Tom Riddle, McLaggen, for what he did to her. I give you my word on that."

Cormac managed a darkly grim smile.

"I appreciate it," he permitted, and stepped back. "Good luck," he said, and looked up, finding Pansy's eye as she watched from a few feet away. "To all of you."

She nodded, and he disapparated.

"Are we sure it's worth having Smith here?" Theo asked, gesturing to where Zacharias Smith stood beside Pansy, gaping up at the canopy of trees. "Did someone teach him a stunning spell at least?"

"Better," Pansy said, shrugging. "Taught him how to use a knife."

"She's joking," Daphne assured them, nudging her. "We taught him some spells. He'll stick with Paul, and we'll be there, so - "

"You sure you're up for this?" Draco asked ambiguously, and Daphne scoffed.

"Okay," she huffed, shaking her head, "did you really just - "

"Not you," he corrected, and glanced at Pansy. "Are _you_ sure?"

Her eyes widened.

"I wouldn't fucking be here if I weren't, Draco," Pansy snapped, and he, for whatever reason, was relieved to hear it.

"Good," he said, and glanced around. "You guys work on this," he told them, gesturing to the wards of the castle. "I'm going to find Granger."

"Better get moving, Potter," Theo said, nudging him. "I only have ten years, you know - "

"For _fuck's sake,_ Nott - "

Draco shook his head as he went, heading for the edge of the forest and looking around for Hermione's familiar silhouette before jumping in alarm, catching the sound of a quiet cough behind him.

"Holy fucking sh-"

"The day boy," he heard a voice say, followed by the soft sound of hooves against the forest floor. "As foretold."

Draco spun, fighting a smirk as he lowered his wand.

"And here _you_ are," he said to Firenze, "equally foretold."

Firenze the centaur shrugged. "I felt it was a reasonable time to return," he said, "as I was sent a message from a friend."

Part of Draco wanted to roll his eyes. Luna Lovegood, for all her lunacy, was almost _frustratingly_ organized, even from the grave.

"Pity," Firenze added sadly, catching the recognition in Draco's face. "I liked her."

Draco nodded numbly, not sure what to say.

"So," Firenze pressed, his hooves restless against the ground. "Have you discovered your ending, then, day boy?"

Draco blinked. "My ending?"

"You wished to know the end of the story," Firenze reminded him. "Or have you so easily forgotten?"

"Oh," Draco realized. "Yes, well, I guess it doesn't matter now, does it?" he asked, gesturing around them. "I think I'd rather not know if I'm going to die today, thanks."

To his surprise, the centaur nodded his approval.

"Ah, so now you understand," Firenze commented, looking pleased. "Nothing is certain," he murmured, "but even if it were, certainty about the future is not for you to possess. Nor I," he added.

"So what do we possess, then?" Draco asked, wearily raking his hand back through his hair. He caught the centaur's gaze lingering on his wrist and looked down at it, watching the phoenix clutch the bow in its talons. "Oh, yeah," he offered, raising it for Firenze to see. "Hermione did this to cover the Dark Mark, but I'm really not sure why she - "

"Take mine," Firenze offered, reaching behind his back to withdraw a quiver of arrows and a supple-looking bow, made from some kind of gleaming dark wood. "Take it," Firenze pressed, holding it out as Draco stared at it, puzzled. "It's rude to refuse a gift from a centaur, you know."

"Do the stars say that?" Draco asked wryly.

"Yes," Firenze replied, deadpan, and took another step, holding it within his reach. "Take it."

"I don't know what to do with this," Draco told him uneasily, though in a way, it did call to him; the wood seemed appealing in the sunlight, and though he'd never touched it before, he imagined he could feel the wood beneath his fingers. "I'm not exactly an archer, you know, being that this isn't some Highland festival, or medieval times - "

"You wizards and your choice of tools," Firenze scoffed, disapproving. "You rely so heavily on your wands, but then what distinguishes you, one from the other? With _this_ ," he explained, his fingers loose around the bow, "there is more than pretty words and silly spells. More than one small brand of magic. Magic is a force of its own, you know," he added. "A current in all things. With a bow, the magic of it is in your steady hand, in the trueness of your aim. And those are no small things, day boy," he cautioned.

Draco sighed, relenting, and slowly took the bow from the centaur's hands, followed by the quiver of arrows.

"You realize this is absurd, don't you?" Draco asked, weighing the wood of the bow in his hands. It was light and almost springy, pliant beneath his fingers. "And what will you do without a weapon?" he asked the centaur, remembering. "I thought your herd would kill you if you came back."

Firenze shrugged.

"Better to die, then," he said simply. "Better to be a creature who fights, I think, than one who runs."

 _I was a man who ran, but no more -_

 _A reluctant hero is a hero still -_

"I know what you mean," Draco permitted, "but still - "

"You need it more than I do," Firenze told him, sniffing with something like a mystic affectation. "And in any case, I'm rather an expert at making them. Though, I wonder, wherever will I get the wood?" he pondered facetiously, waving a hand around the forest and pawing delicately at the ground.

Draco smirked, shaking his head, and then slung the quiver and the bow around his torso, shifting testingly beneath its weight and angles.

"This is quite easy to move with," he commented, surprised.

Firenze gave him something of a smile. "Almost like magic," he remarked neutrally, and then he slowly disappeared, blending gradually into the foliage.

* * *

"Where did you get that?" Hermione asked, pointing to the bow slung around his torso, and Draco shrugged.

"Long story. The _short_ version," he offered, "is that centaurs find it very rude if you refuse their gifts. But anyway," he continued, stepping after her, "what's this insane thought you're clearly having?"

She wondered if he would believe her.

"The castle is alive," she told him slowly. "So what if we let it choose our side?"

Draco frowned. "But how do we - "

"Harry," she said, spotting him, and jogged over to where he and Theo were standing with Daphne, Pansy, Blaise, and Neville. "I have an idea about how to get in."

"Is it to ask nicely?" Theo quipped, and she blinked.

"Yes, actually," she said.

"Oh," he remarked, taken aback. "Well. Remind me not to make jokes, then."

"I remind you of that every day," Harry growled, "but _sure_. Hermione," he said, turning back to her. "What are you suggesting?"

"The castle is sentient," she said, "and it's under attack from the inside. If we ask it to fight back," she babbled, "to fight for _us -_ "

"How exactly do you propose parlaying kinship with the castle?" Blaise cut in skeptically. "Does it even have the sophistication to physically destroy its own wards? It's _sentient_ , sure, but - "

"It _is_ capable of decision-making," Draco pointed out, glancing at him. "It never let you out, remember? It needed you to stay."

"It chose who to offer portkeys to," Theo agreed. "Which I'm still not thrilled about," he muttered under his breath, "but _that_ , I would think, is something like sophistication - "

"It's _alive_ ," Hermione reminded them again, "and I'll prove it." She turned to Draco. "Cover me," she told him, certain her eyes were wild, but equally certain she'd have to go on blind faith. "If I get those wards down, they're going to start attacking. Who's inside?" she asked Harry, and he glanced down at the Marauder's Map, shaking his head.

"An army of mercenaries," he said, pointing to them. "Death Eaters, Snatchers, teachers, students - "

"Be ready to get the students out," she told him, turning to Neville and Blaise. "You've gotten people in and out before," she added. "You can do this, can't you?"

"Yes, of course," Neville said, looking confused. "But Hermione, how are you going to - "

"Cover me," she said again, and took a moment to turn, cradling Draco's cheek in the palm of her hand. "Okay?"

"Hermione," he said, looking worried. "I don't - how will you - "

"Be ready to follow me," she said again, and turned, aiming herself at the wards of the castle. "I'm sorry," she said as she walked, her feet picking up to a light jog and then quickening to race towards it from the forest, hearing the sounds of the others motioning rapidly behind her. "I'm sorry that this happened to you," she panted as she ran, reaching a hand out, "but I promise to fight with you - I promise to fight _for_ you - "

"Hermione, the wards!" she heard someone shout behind her. " _Don't_ \- "

"Please," she whispered, feeling the edges of the castle's magic as she came to a halt just outside it, her palm raised in kinship, in offering. "Please fight with us."

"Hermione, DON'T!"

She closed her eyes, holding her breath, and pressed her hand to the castle's wards, steadying herself for the impact.

* * *

The moment Hermione's hand flattened against the castle's enchantments, it seemed to rumble internally. Draco took off at a sprint, nearly barrelling into her as the wards snapped from within, cracking along fault lines and then dissipating altogether, breaking with a lurch.

" _Protego_ ," he shouted, yanking her down as she stumbled from the impact, and almost instantly they were met with a storm of spells from the other side, the Dark Lord's army of mercenaries waiting for them the instant the wards had fallen. "THEO - "

"I've got you," he heard Theo shout from behind him, dragging him up. "Come on - "

Draco grabbed Hermione's hand and ran, half-carrying her under his arm as they made their way to the castle's doors from the courtyard. The sounds of the other voices carried around them as Hermione blinked, slowly regaining her sight from the impact of the wards snapping beneath her fingers.

"You ready?" Draco asked, and she raised her wand, her face still.

" _Stupefy_ ," she shouted, hitting what appeared to be a troll square in the chest before shoving forward, each of them leaning on the other as they pressed on through the fray.

The Dark Lord had clearly known they were coming; had clearly planned for their arrival, using the largest, most obtrusive creatures at the castle's entry. Draco recognized werewolves and giants and knew with a strange rush of cognizance that this was typical behavior; that Lord Voldemort would place the ones he valued least at the doors, and further in, he would be guarded by the ones he trusted most.

The creatures, Draco knew with certainty, would be the least of their troubles.

There was a hail of arrows from above them and for a moment Draco's breath caught with fear, panicked that they'd now have to fight from multiple directions; but then the arrows buried themselves in the oncoming creatures and he realized the attacks were coming, instead, from the centaurs in the forest, lessening the castle's opposition on their behalf.

"Come on," Draco said, pulling Hermione towards where Theo and Harry were advancing, sprinting through to the castle doors. "Let's go - "

They ran, breathless, and the moment Harry's hand touched the doors they opened for him, ushering him in with the others close behind.

"Watch out," Draco shouted, stunning a Snatcher just before they aimed for Theo. The entire room was filled with commotion, and for a moment he lost Hermione's hand, diving behind a dislodged piece of stone from a stray blasting curse.

He looked around, pausing for a dizzied second, to take in the destruction happening around him. A castle that had withstood so much within its walls now suffered, once again, at the hands of its usurpers, throwing curses without regard for where they would land. What had the Dark Lord built during his reign? A false history, a world built on lies, a system of oppression and futile tyranny. Hopelessness was carved into the earth by Lord Voldemort's wand, and what had he _destroyed_? Everything precious, everything beautiful, things that had stood for centuries and which now buckled under the weight of his rule, forced to shelter a madman's quest for power.

Draco heard his name, processed the sound of Hermione's voice and struggled to his feet, blasting his way forward. The wand - Cadmus Peverell's wand - was certainly a force to be reckoned with, and he felt Firenze's bow tighten protectively around his back.

 _You are a magical being,_ he heard her say, and compelled himself to believe it.

"Hermione," he panted, managing to reach her as they crouched down, both avoiding another stray curse. "We have to get further inside."

"Further where?" she asked desperately, coughing as the dust from a fallen pillar settled around them. "Where do you think he is?"

"If the castle's working with us, it'll lead us to him," Draco guessed, and stood, glancing around. "Come on, towards the stairs - "

He grabbed her hand and took off running, catching sight of Harry and Theo a few feet in front of him as Daphne and Pansy joined them, both witches' wands extended to clear the rubble from their path.

They skidded into the vestibule of the grand staircase in unison and stared up, startled, as the steps began to shift.

"Where's Darian?" Pansy asked, glancing around apprehensively. "The others, the Death Eaters, where are they?"

She stepped forward and Harry's hand shot out, holding her back.

"Careful," he warned, as Blaise, Neville, and Cassius joined them, racing in from the courtyard. "Where are the others?"

"Holding them off," Blaise said, glancing back at Neville. "We have to get to the dormitories - if there are students or faculty in the building - "

"Go," Harry agreed, and they took off, running for the dungeons. "As for us - "

"This could be a trap," Draco noted, sharing Pansy's concern that they had yet to encounter a Death Eater. "We're bottle-necked in here, and - "

"Glad you finally noticed, Malfoy," commented someone above him, and Draco looked up to see Gosforth drop from the ceiling, the mask that had been fixed across his face not quite enough to disguise the usual venomous lilt in his tone. "Frankly, I'd say you're pretty fucked."

Hermione raised her wand but was quickly disarmed; another dozen men or more dropped from the stairs above, all masked and hooded, and Draco glanced around the room, counting them to realize with an abrupt lurch of discomfort that they were badly outnumbered. The six of them backed up, forming a circle, and Harry lashed out, casting a stunning spell at a Death Eater who merely wavered in place, vanishing briefly and then reappearing.

"They can't all be real," Draco muttered in Hermione's ear, glancing at Theo for confirmation.

Theo nodded his agreement. "Most of this has to be an illusion," he confirmed, "but how do we know?"

"Trial and error," Daphne said, and raised her wand.

Gosforth, catching the motion, flicked his wand, slamming her into the wall and laughing, mirthfully, as her head seemed to bounce, leaving her limp on the floor. Pansy spun, furious.

"Don't you touch her - "

"Ah, Lady Mulciber," Gosforth snarled, advancing on her with his wand aimed at her forehead, disarming her quickly. "And Lady Lestrange," he added, glancing at where Daphne tried to drag herself up from the floor. "What a pleasure to find both of you here, and so _convenient -_ "

"Fuck you," Pansy spat, scrambling forward for her wand. "You little shit - "

Gosforth smirked. " _Avada Kedav-_ "

"No," Draco heard another Death Eater say, and then Gosforth spun, furious, as Darian Mulciber ripped off his mask, yanking Gosforth back by the hood of his robe. "Don't touch my wife."

"She's a traitor," Gosforth snarled, jerking himself free. "The Dark Lord'll kill her anyway, won't he?"

"That's not for you to decide," Mulciber replied gruffly, and beside Draco, Harry raised his wand, calculating the odds.

"Wait," Draco whispered, holding his arm. He caught something in Mulciber's blank stare and held Harry still. "Just wait one minute."

"Darian, I'm sorry," Pansy was saying to her husband, shaking her head as she joined Daphne's side, helping her to her feet. "I'm sorry, but I can't live like this - this is wrong, Darian, all of it, and I don't want to hurt you, but - "

She trailed off and Mulciber stared down at her, silent, as Gosforth picked up his wand again, aiming it once more at Pansy.

"You're a traitor," he told her coldly, "and you deserve a traitor's death. _Av-_ "

He seemed jolted forward as Mulciber flicked his own wand, disarming him, and raised it to Gosforth's temple.

"You are a young man," Mulciber said, his voice low, "and I'm sorry to have to rob you of what should have been a long life, but you will not touch her." He glanced up, meeting Draco's eye, and then looked back at Gosforth. "You will not touch anyone again. _Avada Kedavra,_ " he said flatly, and Gosforth dropped to the ground.

Whiddon pulled his mask off, stepping forward with a pained, wordless gasp, and then Mulciber turned, facing someone Draco was certain was Avery.

"This is no life," Mulciber said simply, and for a moment, Avery paused, staring at him.

Then Avery, too, pulled off his mask, turning to the others. Half the illusioned Death Eaters flickered and disappeared, likely conjured by Mulciber and Avery themselves, and the others slowly raised their wands, facing them with wordless opposition.

"Anyone who wants to hurt my wife can go through me," Mulciber invited tonelessly, as Avery stepped beside him. "The rest of you can go," he added, quieter, as his dark gaze flicked quickly to Pansy. "Do you understand?"

Pansy's eyes widened, shocked, but she recovered quickly. She yanked Daphne to her feet and lunged for her wand, launching forward and grabbing hold of Harry's arm as she went.

"GO!" Mulciber shouted to Draco, casting a blinding _Protego_ , and the six of them took off, racing towards the nearest staircase as the light from clashing curses began to spark relentlessly behind them.

* * *

They got halfway up the stairs before a cold, high voice echoed through the castle; it brought the hairs on Hermione's arms to attention, whipping through her bones and thundering down her spine in a memory of another day like this one - a terrible day, when everything had gone horribly wrong.

" _Have you come for me, Draco_?" the voice hissed, scraping through the channels of their ears as they drew to a halt, stumbling on the top step.

"It's got to be a trap," Harry muttered, looking uneasy, and Hermione was certain he was right. "We have to be close, but - "

"What choice do we have?" Draco retorted, his voice clipped with nerves. "Trap or not, there's nothing we can do but _keep going_ , so - "

" _Who have you brought for me, Draco?_ " Voldemort sneered again, and the six of them drew closer, wands outstretched as they looked around. " _Whose lives will you endanger next?_ "

"Ridiculous," Theo muttered, scoffing. "As if Draco cares."

"Not helpful," Draco snapped, glaring at him.

"Where would he be?" Daphne asked, turning to Harry. "Are there places in the castle that mean something to him?"

"He could be in the Chamber of Secrets," Harry guessed, his brow furrowed. "But that's essentially underground, and - "

" _Have you forsaken your blood, Draco Malfoy?_ " Voldemort's taunts continued. " _You're not the first. Your foolish mother let Harry Potter live … your father did the same when he failed to tell me of your devotion to the mudblood … and what ancient blood did you betray when Theodore the elder was slaughtered in cold blood?"_

Hermione's breath caught, watching Theo's face turn pale. Harry's hand shot out, steadying him, his fingers wrapped tightly around Theo's wrist. Hermione blinked, trying to understand what that might mean, when she noticed Pansy watching her, her dark eyes appraising her slowly from across the circle.

She shook herself of the observation, turning to Harry. "He's not going to be in the Chamber," she told him, fighting to keep up with her racing thoughts. "Aren't you listening? This isn't about you this time, Harry," she murmured, anxiously chewing her lip as she turned to Draco. "This is about _you_. He'll go somewhere else," she guessed, trying to think. "Somewhere he can make you feel weak, make you feel small - "

" _Come find me, Draco,_ " Voldemort hissed again, " _and then we can play._ "

"He has to know he's not getting out alive," Pansy remarked, her voice uncharacteristically quiet and stiff. "He's trapped here. Even if he kills us, the castle is _surrounded -_ "

"He has no more options," Daphne contributed nervously. "He has no escape. He's _trapped_ , and - "

It seemed to hit them all at once.

"That's it, then," Harry interrupted, turning to look at Hermione, and she nodded, feeling her breath quicken.

"He does know that," she realized, her hand flying to her lips. "He knows it ends here, and - "

"He's going to take out as many people as he can," Theo finished coldly, his eyes flashing in the dim light of the castle torches. "It's a fucking trap. Everyone in the castle is at risk."

The collective reaction - the shared intake of breath - was visceral.

"We have to get people out," Draco said, glancing expectantly at Harry. "We have to make sure it's empty, or he could use it against us."

"We'll go," Daphne said instantly, reaching down to grip Pansy's hand. "We'll get everyone out - into the forest," she muttered hastily, "or into the safehouses. We'll warn Cormac - "

"Are you sure that's safe?" Harry asked, concerned. "You realize the Death Eaters we just escaped will want both of you dead - "

"They want _all_ of us dead," Pansy interrupted, her mouth lining itself thinly. "But it's you four the Dark Lord wants. It's you four he's already mentioned." She glanced up, locking eyes with Theo. "It _is_ you, isn't it? You killed your father," she murmured, and Hermione watched him swallow, his throat bobbing with pain. "I'm glad to hear it."

Daphne's eyes widened. "Theo - "

"Look," Theo interrupted, "I only have ten years, okay? Let's kill this motherfucker _now_ ," he snarled, "and in whatever time remains, we can chat about my sins."

Hermione noted he didn't look at her, pointedly avoiding her eye.

 _Tell them,_ she heard Ron say, _tell them how I took down a giant -_

 _I have blood on my hands_ , she heard Draco lament, and shuddered.

"Go," Harry agreed, reaching out to grip Daphne's shoulder; an oddly fraternal gesture, Hermione thought, as she caught Pansy's gaze on her again. "Get everyone out. And if we don't make it - "

"You'll make it," Daphne said firmly, and threw her arms around Harry's neck, holding him tightly. "Don't think for a moment you won't. Or you," she added fiercely, turning to Draco and Theo, and as she moved to embrace them, Pansy took a step towards Hermione.

"None of this was your fault," Pansy said quietly, and Hermione frowned, glancing questioningly at her. "None of this is your responsibility. No sacrifice was made in vain." She paused, toying with her hands. "Do you understand?"

Hermione turned to face her, bemused. "Pansy, I don't - "

"You are not broken," Pansy cut in flatly, "and you will rise. Do you understand me?" she prompted hoarsely, and reached out, her hands rising to Hermione's shoulders. "You're not broken. You will rise. Say it back to me, Granger," she demanded, and Hermione, who had shared a number of surprising moments with Pansy Parkinson and yet none as strangely intimate as this one, barely managed to breathe. "Say it back," Pansy repeated, her grip tightening. "You are not broken - "

"I am not broken," Hermione echoed, her throat tightening unexpectedly around the words. "I will rise."

Behind them, Daphne turned, waiting expectantly, and Pansy glanced at her, pleading for a moment before fixing again on Hermione.

 _You think you're broken because you hear voices?_

 _I am not broken,_ Hermione thought, and understood.

"Again," Pansy commanded, swiping brusquely at her eyes. "Say it again."

"I am not broken," Hermione repeated. "I will rise. I will _rise_ ," she registered abruptly, giving Pansy the firmest nod she could conjure, "because we always fucking rise."

As Pansy released her, approving, Hermione felt Draco slip his hand in hers.

"Stay alive," Hermione told the two women fiercely, and Pansy nodded, glancing once at Draco in farewell and then turning, hurrying after Daphne and gradually disappearing down the stairs, leaving the other four alone.

"We still don't know where to find him," Theo noted, clearing his throat as they turned, contemplating their next move. "Is it possible there's some secret room he's in, or - "

"No," Draco said, shaking his head. "He wants us to find him. He wants _me_ to find him," he amended, and Hermione held tight to his fingers as he shivered, unsettled.

"He has to be somewhere we could get to," Harry agreed, "or he wouldn't bother with all this. He's a psychopath locked in a castle," he muttered to himself, grimacing. " _Surely_ this should be easier - "

" _The clock is ticking,_ " Voldemort's voice erupted shrilly. " _You do not want to anger your Lord any further, Draco … "_

"The lord thing," Theo muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "What kind of fucking _tyrant -_ "

 _Once there was a king,_ Hermione thought, _a tyrant, who believed in power above all things -_

"It's a castle," she cut in, realizing something. "It's a castle, and he's a man with a power complex. Does the castle have, I don't know - " she shook her head, thinking. "A throne room, or something - something with a throne, or some place that represents authority - "

"Closest thing is the Headmaster's Office, isn't it?" Harry prompted. "It was where Dippet first refused him, and then Dumbledore - it would have to be a symbol of power in his mind. In _any_ student's mind - "

"That has to be it," Draco determined brusquely, and took off running, the staircases shifting under them as they scrambled up the steps in his wake. The four of them skidded into the Gargoyle Corridor, racing up the Headmaster's Tower to the stone staircase where they knew the gargoyle stood, their footsteps echoing behind them.

" _You're getting closer, aren't you?_ " Voldemort laughed. " _Draco, Draco, I'm waiting …_ "

"Holy fuck," Theo said, reaching the gargoyle first of the four and coming to a screeching halt as Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth, aghast. "He fucking _beheaded_ it - "

"Fuck," Draco breathed, blinking, as they looked at the small pile of broken parts that had once been the creature guarding the headmaster's office. He glanced up, gesturing with a finger to his lips. "Door's open, then," he murmured over his shoulder, raising his wand. "Are we ready for this?"

Theo reached out, wordlessly gripping Draco's shoulder in confirmation, and Harry nodded.

"Let's fuck him up," he muttered under his breath, and Draco turned, glancing expectantly at Hermione.

"No plan," he offered apologetically, his pale hair falling into his eyes. "Do you have any?"

Hermione swallowed a lump of fear.

"No," she admitted, and still - despite everything - his mouth set itself so firmly that she wondered how he had ever been a reluctant hero; how he had ever considered himself a coward. "Draco," she whispered, and he reached for her, taking her face and bringing her close, pressing a desperate, breathless kiss to her lips.

"I'm not finished with you," he promised, and she shut her eyes, pained.

"If you lose, I lose," she returned, and he nodded, releasing her and facing the others.

"He wants to play with me," Draco reminded them, "so stay behind me, and - "

"We have your back," Theo assured him, as Harry nodded his agreement. "We can hold our own. Can't we?" Theo prompted, glancing at Hermione.

She smiled weakly. "I'd like to see him stop me," she murmured, and with that, Draco stepped forward, taking the first step up the circular spiral staircase.

* * *

"Ah, Draco," the Dark Lord said, smiling with an eerie congeniality as they set foot into the circular office that had once belonged to Albus Dumbledore. "How kind of you to join me. Please," he beckoned, "come in."

"Holy shit," Draco heard Harry breathe behind him, and privately, he agreed.

The Dark Lord had removed the desk that had once been in the room, instead seating himself in an overlarge, throne-like chair in the center of the room, his bare feet resting delicately atop the wooden slats of the floor. He wore the sorting hat like a crown, sipping from a goblet marked with the Hogwarts crest, and all around the room the portraits of past headmasters had been bound and gagged, Dumbledore's shredded with a knife and Dippet's scorched on the face of it.

Madness seemed to seep from every pore of him; from every inch of the room. The Dark Lord raised his goblet to his lips, taking an indulgent sip, and then he beckoned Draco forward again, his clawed, skeletal fingers tapping agitatedly on his wand.

"I see you've made yourself at home," Draco ventured cautiously, taking a step, as Lord Voldemort's eyes caught on Hermione behind him.

"Ah, excellent, the mudblood _is_ alive," he chuckled to himself, casting the goblet aside and letting the liquid, blood-red, spill from the metal, filling the slats in the floor. "I'd so hoped to see you," he murmured to her, and Harry raised his wand, aiming at the Dark Lord's head.

"Ah, not yet," Voldemort cautioned, catching the motion and disarming Harry with a flick of his fingers, not even bothering to look. "My word, Harry, have you lost all sense of showmanship in the time that you've been away?"

"You're mad," Hermione spat, and Voldemort tilted his head, teeth sliding along his reptilian lips as he smiled broadly at her.

"I so hoped you'd come," he whispered back, his fingers toying with his wand. "You should see how I'll hurt him," he crooned to her, his eyes glittering as she swallowed in apprehension, her gaze flicking worriedly to Draco. "How I'll hurt him by hurting _you_ \- "

"Leave her alone," Draco snarled, stepping in front of her with his wand raised. "You're not getting out of here," he warned, "and whether we kill you now or ten minutes from now, that won't change the fact that you're _never leaving this room -_ "

Abruptly, the Dark Lord's expression shifted, becoming again coldly aloof.

"Draco, do you really believe that my death will change anything?" Voldemort asked, his snake-like features coming to fixate on Draco's face. "I didn't invent hatred, Draco. Men like your father were at it long before I brought them under my reign, and they will _continue_ it," he said flatly, "even in my absence - "

"Not this time," Draco cut in flatly, and Voldemort made another quick motion with his fingers, Theo's slowly rising wand suddenly ripped from his hand.

"You should be more careful," Voldemort warned ambiguously, his gaze skating across all four of them. "You've come here today on the basis of some very dangerous assumptions, haven't you? That if you kill me, I can never return," he remarked with a laugh. "Foolish of you. I can _always_ return," he commented darkly, "and however many horcruxes you think you've destroyed, you'll never know for certain that they're gone - "

"Horcruxes require loyalty," Hermione interrupted, taking a rebellious step forward to align her shoulders with Draco's. "Even if you have more, no one would _ever_ bring you back again, not after the mess you made of the world - "

"Dangerous to believe such things," Voldemort informed her, cutting her off. "You believe in good men, and yet I came to power on the backs of quite _bad_ ones, didn't I? STOP," he suddenly roared without pause, rising to his feet and propelling Harry backwards, disrupting his efforts to reach his disarmed wand.

"Not yet," Voldemort warned him again, and then he took a step back, slowly retreating.

Draco advanced, Hermione at his side, and the Dark Lord beckoned, an absurdly challenging smile on his face. He tilted his head back, laughing, and took another retreating step as they moved towards him, matching their motions to his.

"There's nothing you can do," Hermione told Lord Voldemort, "no killing curses you can throw - we know they'll fail - "

"How did you do it?" he interrupted, staring maniacally at her and seeming to disregard her threats. "The castle. How did you bend it to your will? I know it was you," he added, and she set her jaw, stunningly defiant.

"I asked nicely," she said through gritted teeth, and the Dark Lord smiled.

"Ah yes, because it's sentient, isn't it?" he prompted, glancing around as he let his palm fall against the stone wall behind him, his fingers lingering covetously against it. "It's … _alive_ ," he murmured, "don't you think?"

Hermione hesitated, and Draco, sensing her distress, raised his wand.

"Enough of your taunts," he warned the Dark Lord. "I'm sick of your games."

Beside him, he failed to register the widening of Hermione's eyes.

"Wait," she whispered, shaking her head urgently. "Draco, _wait -_ "

"Pity," Lord Voldemort remarked, "as they're only just beginning." He raised his wand, aiming it at Hermione. " _Avada Kedavra,_ " he said, and Draco leapt forward, conjuring a _Protego_ around her as she ducked, falling to the ground while Theo and Harry each scrambled for their wands, arising with them in hand.

"Didn't work," Draco spat, struggling to his feet and aiming his wand again. "Your killing curses don't work anymore _My Lord_ , they're simply a means of - "

"Of what?" Voldemort asked, and beneath Draco's feet, he felt the castle begin to shake; the floor beneath him tremored violently, and then the walls, and then the frame containing the slashed portrait of Albus Dumbledore crashed to the ground, followed by Dippet's. "Of my soul gaining dominion, Draco?"

"He's made the castle a horcrux," Hermione whispered urgently, clinging to Draco as the cracks beneath their feet splintered and widened. "It's alive and he's buried himself in it, he's _controlling_ it - "

"DRACO!" Theo shouted in warning, leaping towards him, but the castle had already turned on itself. The slats of the floor rose up, building a cage plank by plank around him as Lord Voldemort continued to laugh, the sound ringing through the air despite the thunder of rapid crumbling. Draco cast a blasting curse, fighting his way out, but it only worked for a moment before the wood replenished itself.

The castle, old as it was, had magic of its own to rival any he could conjure.

The Dark Lord brought his hands up, raising the floor with them, and then slammed them back down, separating Draco from Hermione just as Harry leapt, landing unsteadily beside Draco in the same moment that Draco's wand was ripped from his hand.

"HOLD ON," Harry shouted, though Draco could see that he, too, was wandless, struggling to hold on as the castle tried to force them apart. "HERMIONE, HOLD ON - "

"DRACO!"

He turned at the sound of her voice, seeking her out; propelled, as he'd always been, within the confines of her atmosphere. The dust rose from the floors, crumbled from the falling ceiling, and he caught a last glimpse of Hermione's face; of her eyes, wide and golden-bright, radiant, like a better sky -

"DRACO," she was shouting, "LOOK UP!"

But it was too late.

* * *

It seemed like years before Draco managed to open his eyes, a strange, blue light flooding his vision in a bizarrely familiar way - almost as if he were having a dream from his adolescence. The light seemed to flicker and wane, to glimmer, like the motion of the lake from the Slytherin common room. He remembered, in an odd moment of peace, how he had felt there before; how calm he'd always been, soothed by the presence of the water's floaty stillness.

He sat up, gasping, and looked around, realizing that he actually _was_ inside the Slytherin common room, the remains of it now left in ruins. The chairs had been overturned, the leather torn and shredded; the tables he'd sat at to study were now in violently protruding shards, projecting like stalagmites from the dungeon's cold, stone floor.

Something poked into his back and he shifted, realizing he still wore Firenze's bow and quiver, though his wand was nowhere in sight. He stood, stumbling towards the blockade where the door should be, and hit his foot on something as he went; something soft. Something that let out a vague 'oof' sound, delivering him to unexpected relief.

"Potter," Draco muttered feverishly, throwing aside the rolled up tapestry that covered him and helping Harry to his feet, catching him as the other man swayed unsteadily. "We have to get out," he said frantically, "we have to find Hermione and Theo - "

"I - can't," Harry forced out, clutching at his throat. "I can't - breathe - "

He stumbled again, nearly collapsing, and Draco forced him up, holding him under the arms.

"They must be in here somewhere," Draco guessed, grunting with difficulty as he tried to drag Harry around the room. "Do you have a wand?" he asked hopefully, knowing there was no way out of the blocked exit, but Harry simply clawed at his throat, gasping for air. Draco released him, letting him fall to his knees, and then frowned. "You look like - like you're - "

" _Drowning_?" he heard someone say, and whipped over his shoulder, looking for the source of the Dark Lord's voice. " _How apt, Draco_."

Suddenly, the window to the lake illuminated brightly, and Draco ran towards it, recognizing the floating figures of Hermione and Theo as they swayed with the current, ankles chained to the lake's surface floor as their faces, oddly doll-like and obscured by bubble-head charms, remained deathly impassive.

"What is this?" Draco growled, pivoting again to look for Lord Voldemort, searching helplessly in the room. "I know you're watching, I know you're listening, so tell me _what the fuck this is -_ "

" _This_ ," Voldemort said, his voice still strangely omnipresent, " _is the game, Draco._ "

Draco glanced over his shoulder, watching Harry; he'd regained his breath, slowly dragging himself up from the floor. He was _breathing_ , Draco realized with relief, and therefore Theo must have still been alive, and Hermione, too.

"Show yourself, you coward!" Draco spat, slamming a fist angrily against the window to the lake. "If you wanted them dead, you'd have killed them already - "

" _Ah, not quite_ ," Voldemort returned, the voice scraping against through the passages of Draco's mind. " _I want one of them dead, true, but only one_."

Draco felt a slick, unsettling chill, and Harry looked up, his cheeks worryingly bloodless.

"Which one?" Draco asked hoarsely, staring at Harry, and was punished by a cold, high laugh.

" _That_ ," Voldemort replied, " _is up to you. You have ten minutes to decide who lives,_ " he murmured, and Draco watched, horrified, as Theo and Hermione's faces floated blankly before him, " _and who dies_."

"No," Draco exhaled, choking on it, and Voldemort laughed again.

" _Good luck_ ," he murmured, and faintly, Draco registered the sound of a ticking clock.

* * *

Hermione opened her eyes to a strange, blinding light. It was the light creeping through the canopy of forest trees, she realized, and wondered if the stray beam that had knocked her out had actually killed her, or if she were having some sort of inconceivable dream.

"Hello," she heard, and turned, finding a comforting set of blue eyes.

"Ron," she said, blinking, and then leapt to her feet, throwing her arms around him. "Ron, oh my god, _Ron -_ "

"I see you haven't forgotten me," Ron murmured, chuckling as he caught her in his embrace, spinning her around and setting her back on her feet as his hand slid up to affectionately stroke her hair. "I rather thought you had."

"Impossible," Hermione said, burying her fingers in his shoulder. "Never, Ron," she promised him, holding on tight. "I could never, _ever_ forget you - "

He pulled away, lifting her chin to look at her.

"But you moved on so easily," Ron reminded her, with a youthful air of sulking. "First Bill, and then Malfoy. "

She blinked, confused, but he only stared at her, waiting.

"Years had passed," she told him, frowning. "And we were never right for each other, Ron, you know that - but still," she pressed, "I never forgot you, not once - "

He smiled, satisfied.

"Good," he said, throwing his arm around her and turning with her, walking down the familiar forest path. "Well, I suppose you couldn't forget me, anyway," he conceded. "Not with my death on your hands, right?"

Hermione shuddered; went cold.

"It wasn't on my hands," she said, pulling out from under his arm. "It was _out_ of my hands. I never wanted you to go, but - "

"You could have stopped me," Ron commented, pausing. He turned, his blue eyes strangely cold as he searched her, his gaze intently scanning her face. "You could have kept us safe, Hermione."

She felt her breath catch, her mouth go dry.

"That's not fair," she whispered, shaking her head. "I - I tried, but - "

"Did you?" Ron prompted dubiously. "Did you really? You weren't with me when I died," he reminded her, shaking his head. "Managed to befriend Nott's _real_ killer too, didn't you?"

She paused, remembering the look in Theo's eye on the stairs.

"I don't know that story," she ventured hesitantly, but Ron shrugged.

"But you know _all_ the stories, don't you?" he asked her. "You know all of them. You must have at least predicted mine." He glanced at her sadly. "Aren't you sorry, Hermione?" he asked softly, and she was struck again by his youth; by the way he was more memory than anything else, freckled and familiar, and yet he felt cold, somehow. Distant.

Intangible.

"Aren't you sorry, Hermione?" he asked again, the blue of his eyes flickering, prompting her to take a step back. "Don't you see my death is on your hands?"

She stumbled over a tree root, choking on misery.

"It's not," she stammered. "It - I wasn't - this wasn't my fault - "

"Oh, Hermione," Ron sighed, taking a few steps to corner her, pressing her back against the bark of a tree as its branches crept down from above, tendrils that wrapped tightly around her neck. "Hermione," he whispered, and then the blue of his eyes were piercing, far brighter than they had been in life. She shut her eyes, clinging to the possibility that this, too, wasn't real; that he was only a ghost.

"Hermione," Ron said in her ear, as the branches tightened around her throat. "When will you ever tell yourself the truth?"

* * *

"What's he doing to them?" Draco demanded, pacing the floor of the common room.

He couldn't possibly make this choice. There had to be some other way out.

Harry said nothing, watching Draco from where he was crouched on the floor, his hand pressed tightly to his chest.

"Is he torturing them?" Draco pressed, raking a hand angrily through his hair and glaring again at Harry in frustration. "Are they - are they even _alive_ , or - "

"This is how Theo feels when he sleeps," Harry interrupted quietly, his voice hoarse and broken. "His heart feels like this - panicked. The cold sweat down his back," he murmured, closing his eyes. "The tightening of his chest. The pain in his stomach - "

"So what does that mean?" Draco growled, rounding on Harry. "What are you saying? That they're just asleep?"

Harry looked up, his expression pained.

"I think he trapped them in a nightmare," he croaked, and Draco felt the words like an impact to his soul, left voiceless and stunned in the wake of them.

* * *

Hermione screamed, bracing for the impact at her throat, when the branches abruptly became fingers, gently caressing her neck. She opened her eyes, prepared to scream again, and saw Ginny's brown ones waiting, her lips curled into a soft, warming smile.

"Scared?" Ginny asked. "I was, too."

Hermione let out a breath, promptly collapsing on the ground. Ginny followed, sitting next to her and tilting her chin up, warming in the sun.

"Death's not so bad," Ginny commented. "Easier, really." She glanced over, meeting Hermione's eye. "I should thank you for that."

Hermione fought to catch her breath, not wanting to look up.

"Thank me?" she echoed warily, and Ginny shrugged, smiling.

"Well, this was your fault, wasn't it?" she said. "You could have stopped me. You could have kept me safe, kept me close. You knew I was going to run," she murmured, and Hermione shut her eyes, shaking her head. "You knew I was going to leave, and yet you didn't say a word to anyone, did you?"

"I couldn't have stopped you," Hermione whispered, and Ginny let out an indulgent sigh.

"It's alright, you know," she commented, in an oddly reassuring tone. "I know you never cared about me the way you cared about Harry. I know you chose to spare his feelings," she added. "He would have gone after me, but you wouldn't let him risk it, would you?"

"I couldn't have stopped you," Hermione said again, resting her head against her knees. Ginny's presence had always been comforting, always been calming, but she couldn't seem to recover her sense of presence; to find the steadiness to stand. "I tried, Ginny, but you wouldn't listen - "

"You know, I killed my brother," Ginny commented suddenly, pairing the force of the statement with a tinkling, melodic laugh. "Do you think there is any worse fate than that? Than _discovering_ that? I had thought the diary was the worst of it, but no," she said with a melancholy sigh, twisting a long crimson lock around her finger. "He kept me cursed for years, and you never told a soul."

"I was protecting Harry," Hermione forced out, her throat dry. "There was nothing we could do. You know that, Ginny, I _know_ you know that - "

"Oh sure, of course," Ginny permitted flippantly. "But you know, Harry came back from his death, didn't he? He saw Dumbledore at King's Cross and chose to return," she commented with a certain cruel buoyancy, "but did you wonder why I didn't?" She crawled forward, her voice quiet in Hermione's ear. "Do you want to know what I saw?"

Hermione felt sobs start to rise up in her chest.

"My home," Ginny informed her. "My family. My brothers. Fred and George were there," she mused fondly, "and Ron, and Bill, and they welcomed me home - held out their arms for me, and they told me I was _home -_ "

"Stop," Hermione begged, shaking. "Please, Ginny, please stop - "

"I died because it was easier," Ginny continued, ignoring her. "Because you _made_ it easy, Hermione. You helped take them from me, one by one, and when I finally let Voldemort kill me, I saw them again - I finally came home - "

"Stop," Hermione pleaded. "Please, _please_ stop - "

She froze, panicked, as a set of arms wrapped around her.

"Hermione," Bill said comfortingly. "Don't cry."

"Not you," Hermione whispered. "Please, don't, not you - "

"Why didn't you save me, Hermione?" he asked, his lips brushing the side of her neck. "Didn't you love me?"

 _I didn't think I would lose you -_

 _I was so sure you'd be fine -_

"Yes, I loved you," Hermione forced out, her lungs burning, "but I couldn't - I was - "

"I was dead for years before you ever knew," Bill remarked darkly, his voice husky and low in her ear, scratching at her conscience. "Didn't I mean anything to you?"

She pushed him away, scrambling for distance, but he yanked her back.

"Didn't you love me?" he whispered, and his voice was tragic, burdened; _betrayed_. "Why didn't you save me?" he asked hoarsely, his lips near her ear, and in the distance she heard a series of terrible, guttural screams.

She only realized when the forest's light went dim - her palms caked with dirt as she clawed her way onto her knees - that the screams had come from her.

* * *

"Draco, please," Harry said, sweat dripping from his forehead as he collapsed again to his knees, the ticking sound persisting relentlessly in the background. "Just - choose Theo," he gasped, lowering his head in agony. "Kill Theo, Draco," Harry begged. "He's only got ten years, you and Hermione could have a lifetime, and he's - he's in _pain -_ "

Harry's mouth was bright with blood and saliva; Theo must have bitten his lip.

Draco forced himself to look away.

"Draco, please, just kill him and be done with it," Harry gasped, crying out in anguish. "Just let him fucking _be done_ with it - "

"If I kill Theo, I kill you too," Draco reminded Harry, his brain whirring as he forced himself to be reasonable, to stomach his desperate need to vomit and to find a better way out. "That's two lives, Harry, I can't do that - "

"JUST DO IT," Harry begged, falling onto his elbows and letting out a howl of misery; of pain. "Kill me if you have to," he pleaded, "I've already outlived my time - just _do it -_ "

" _Tick tock_ ," Voldemort's voice laughed. " _Time is running out, Draco. Will it be the love of your life_ ," he taunted, the water shimmering from where Theo and Hermione floated behind the glass, " _or will it be your brother_?"

Draco's heart thudded fiercely in his chest as he stared at them, wondering how the Dark Lord could have possibly known the truth of what they were. His mind spun; his heart ached.

 _If you lose, I lose -_

 _We have blood on our hands -_

 _Maybe you'll find me -_

 _Cursed from birth -_

 _Like pieces made to fit -_

 _Until we fucking die -_

"DRACO," Harry roared, beating his fist against the dungeon's stone floor and breaking him of his caustic reverie. "You have to fucking _do something_ , just end this - "

Harry frantically reached over, taking the _vitae_ knife from his pocket and aiming it at his own chest, and Draco lunged forward, grabbing it from him.

"THIS IS WHAT HE WANTS," Draco shouted angrily, as Harry let out another terrible yell. "This is what he _wants_ , he wants me to feel _alone -_ "

He spun on his heel, letting out a wordless growl of frustration as his gaze settled on Hermione's face, her lifeless expression floating past him.

 _A reluctant hero is a hero still -_

 _Help me,_ he begged her. _Please, please help me -_

He shut his eyes, resting his forehead against the glass as he clutched the knife in one hand, desperately seeking a way out.

 _A boy,_ he heard her say, the memory of her fingers brushing against his cheek. _A boy so steeped in sun -_

 _Once there was a monster,_ she whispered in his ear, _who created a boy only in the day, and a girl only in the night -_

 _A monster, who craved control -_

"A monster," Draco croaked, glancing down at Harry. "A monster who craves control - Potter, THAT'S IT," he shouted, yanking Harry up and shoving him upright. "Don't you get it? He could kill either of them," he guessed wildly, waving his hand around. "He could kill either, he could kill _both_ \- that's not what this is about." He gave Harry a shake, meeting the bespectacled wizard's green eyes and knowing he must have looked manic; must have looked half insane.

"It's me he wants to destroy," Draco said, and stepped back from Harry, licking his lips as he watched the edge of the _vitae_ knife glint from the lake's reflection.

"What are you doing?" Harry choked out, staring up at him.

" _Come on, Draco, who will it be?_ " Voldemort hissed, and Draco raised the _vitae_ knife, holding it below his jaw.

"Do you see me?" he demanded, his hand steady on the handle of the knife. "I know this isn't what you wanted, _Tom_ ," he shouted into nothing, lifting his chin so that Voldemort, wherever he was, could see the knife's edge kissing the skin of his neck. "How much fun will the game be when I die?"

There was a moment of stunned silence.

A lag, Draco thought with relish, to remind him that even the Dark Lord could be taken by surprise.

" _That's not the game_ ," Voldemort gritted out, and Draco smiled, hearing the panic in his voice. " _Draco, stop it - DRACO, PUT THAT DOWN -_ "

"You won't take them from me," Draco called out, his voice steady. "I won't let you. You didn't break me," he spat, revolving slowly so that wherever the bastard was, Lord Voldemort - _Tom Riddle_ \- would see that he wasn't afraid. "You didn't break me before, Tom, and you won't fucking break me now."

" _I AM YOUR LORD, DRACO,_ " Voldemort screamed hysterically. " _I AM THE ONE WHO DECIDES WHO LIVES AND DIES -_ "

"Stop me, then," Draco beckoned, and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he brought the knife to his throat.

Somewhere - _somewhere close_ , he thought with a satisfied smile - he heard the sound of the Dark Lord's angered scream.

* * *

This time, when Hermione opened her eyes again, it was to darkness. She saw the lines on the floor, carved by her own hand, and understood instantly where she was; processed the possibility that perhaps she'd never left.

Perhaps Draco had been a cruel dream, and this had always been reality.

She withered, collapsing again on the floor.

Perhaps in reality he'd never found her, and she'd simply died here, alone.

"Not quite alone," Luna commented idly, and Hermione looked up, startled.

"You," she said, fearful, and Luna smiled.

"Yes," Luna agreed. "Me."

"Your death wasn't my fault," Hermione said carefully, swallowing, and Luna shrugged.

"No, it wasn't," she permitted. "I'm here for the same reason I always am."

"And what's that?" Hermione prompted, her throat sore and brittle.

Luna tilted her head, her lips curling up appealingly.

"I'm here to help you with your truths," she said, her voice bright and melodic. "Aren't I always?"

Hermione shut her eyes, lost.

"You're already broken, you know," Luna commented, shaking her head regretfully. "Even in the wizarding world, hearing voices isn't a good thing. You know that. You already know that, don't you?"

A tiny piece of Hermione's mind - a sliver, a glint - nagged its opposition.

"You can't be fixed," Luna lamented. "After a certain point, you've just gone through too much, don't you think? You've fought valiantly," she added, scooting closer to Hermione, "but still. You've been broken a long time, Hermione."

 _You are not broken -_

"Broken," Hermione repeated faintly, and Luna let out a sigh.

"Wouldn't it be easier just to let go?" she asked. "Just stop fighting. Leave it behind," she whispered. "There are so many people waiting for you, Hermione, somewhere easier. Somewhere better."

 _You are not broken -_

"I'm not finished," Hermione forced out, trying wearily to shake her head, but Luna tutted her disagreement.

"You said yourself that you don't belong in this world," Luna reminded her. "You're the sickness, remember? You're the sickness, and this war is a fever. The world is trying to stamp you out, bleed you dry. Why fight?" she whispered, her voice soft and caressing in Hermione's ear. "Why suffer, Hermione, when you've already done all you can?"

 _You are not broken -_

"I've done all I can," Hermione gasped, exhausted. Her bones ached, her heart, her soul. Everything was heavy, immovable, impossible to carry. "I've tried, I've tried so hard, I fought for _so long_ \- "

"You have," Luna coaxed her, her hand warm on Hermione's back. "You tried, Hermione, and that's the truth. That's the _only_ truth," she murmured, her voice as soft as a lullaby. "We can go somewhere better," she urged, her voice alluring and compelling. "We can leave this room, Hermione, we can be in the sun - "

 _A boy,_ Hermione thought at that.

 _A boy so steeped in sun -_

 _A boy only in the day, and a girl only in the night -_

"The day boy," Hermione whispered, and Luna shook her head.

"Stay with me, Hermione," Luna whispered. "Let yourself rest."

 _If you lose, I lose -_

She forced her eyes shut.

"Stop fighting," Luna told her. "It's time to rest."

 _You are not broken -_

 _You will rise -_

 _We always fucking rise -_

"Hermione, we have to go - "

 _A boy so steeped in sun -_

 _She will know him on sight -_

"Hermione, we have to _go_!"

* * *

The castle shifted the moment the knife's edge licked at Draco's skin, not even breaking the surface before he was jolted forward, the Dark Lord appearing with a terrible, strangled yell. Their surroundings fell away, revealing not the Slytherin common room, but a shattered version of the Great Hall instead; the lake's reflection vanished, a fantastically crafted illusion, and in its place Hermione and Theo lay slumped on the ground, separated by wooden bars that had grown from the floor.

Draco, knowing he had a matter of moments to make a move, glanced down, eyeing the motion from the tattoo on his wrist; the phoenix spread its wings, the bow and arrow in its clutches, and in a moment of breathtaking clarity he understood. He reached behind him, removing the bow from around his shoulders, and clumsily strung an arrow, hastily making use of the only tool at his disposal.

"Do you even know how to shoot that?" Harry yelled from behind him, as Voldemort descended from what had once been the enchanted ceiling, revealing himself above.

"Just get to them," Draco shouted, and as the Dark Lord's feet hit the ground he pulled the arrow back, letting it fly.

Time seemed to slow, Voldemort's slanted eyes registering the coming shot, but Draco's hand had been steady and his aim had been true; the arrow launched unwaveringly towards its target, splitting the air with a singular, unmistakable hum of flight.

It pierced the Dark Lord's shoulder as he landed, pinning him to the embroidered _S_ tapestry that hung across the wall as blood slowly began to seep from the punctured wound. Despite the obvious pain from the shot, however, Voldemort only managed a laugh, his eyes meeting Draco's from afar.

"You'll have to do better than a centaur's arrow to kill me," Voldemort snarled, glancing at it, and wrenched his arm forward, his wand held tight in his hand as he aimed it at Draco's chest. "I've defeated _death_ , Draco Malfoy, and you - "

He broke off, abruptly, and yanked himself forward, seemingly caught.

Draco watched, stunned, as the wall of the castle where the Dark Lord had been pinned seemed to draw him back, absorbing him in its expanse. Voldemort, panicking, struggled to free himself, lurching forward and turning pale as his efforts continuously failed, the arrow steadfastly pinning him in place. The stone walls of the castle drew him into a cold, inhuman embrace, curling around him; the cracks in the floor rose up like fangs, eagerly poised to swallow.

In the wake of the Dark Lord's frantic confusion, Harry launched himself across the rubble to Theo and Hermione, forcing aside wood and glass to land, panting, beside them.

"What's happening?" Harry shouted, and Draco raced towards him, falling to his knees at Hermione's side.

"The castle is destroying itself," he called back, trying to lift her and gritting his teeth in dismay as her head fell back, limp. "I - I don't know how - I don't know _why -_ "

 _I am the sickness,_ he suddenly heard Hermione say, _this world is trying to sweat me out, bleed me dry -_

"His soul," Draco realized abruptly, turning over his shoulder to watch Voldemort struggle within the castle's hold, his wand falling to the ground and reduced to splinters by the teeth formed from the floorboards. "His soul is a sickness," he panted, "and the castle's fighting _back_ \- "

"He made a mistake thinking we were victims," Harry commented venomously, and in his arms, Theo stirred, his eyes slowly opening as he inhaled sharply, awakening.

"Potter, _Christ_ ," Theo muttered, staring at the ongoing destruction, "what did you do?"

"Hermione," Draco shouted, holding her face with one hand, the _vitae_ knife clutched tight in the other. "Hermione, we have to go - "

"The castle is going to fucking collapse," Harry growled, yanking Theo to his feet and rushing to grab Draco's shoulder. "We have to get out, Draco, _now_ \- "

"Hermione, we have to _go_!" Draco shouted, and bent his forehead to hers. "Please," he begged her. "Please wake up, _please_. Please come back to me," he pleaded, his fingers tangled in her curls. "I'm not finished with you, I'll never be finished with you - "

"Draco," Theo urged, reaching for him. "We'll all die if we stay much longer. The castle's committing _suicide_ ," he lamented bitterly, "just to get rid of that fucking piece of his soul - "

"Just hold on," Draco snarled warningly, shrugging out of his reach. "Just _wait_ \- "

"Draco - DRACO - "

"Please," he begged, and in a moment of desperation he pressed his lips to Hermione's, praying for a breath.

* * *

"Come on, Hermione," Luna coaxed, her hand outstretched. "Come with me."

 _I'm not finished with you -_

She looked down, staring at her hands.

 _I'll never be finished with you -_

"I can't," Hermione whispered, and Luna looked up, saddened.

 _What is this I have, the night girl wondered -_

 _How is it I am lifted above all weariness; above all wrong?_

"Why not?" Luna asked.

 _It was the light, she knew -_

 _It was_ his _light -_

"Draco," she whispered, and felt him; tasted him.

 _A boy so steeped in sun -_

"Hermione, _please -_ "

"Draco," she gasped, and sat up, her eyes widening as she took in the scene of destruction around her, the castle crumbling to pieces as dust settled itself in the pale expanse of his hair. He dragged her up with one hand, kissing the tips of her fingers, his eyes briefly falling shut in a devastating breath of relief.

"We have to go," he told her frantically, his hand wrapped around the _vitae_ knife, but Hermione dragged him back, looking around.

"Where is he?" she demanded, forcing her way through the crumbling floors to seek him out. "Where's Tom Riddle?"

"He's there," Draco panted, chasing after her. "But we have to _go_ , Hermione - "

In the same moment, struggling through the crumbling castle, her eyes fell on him: on the would-be Lord who had taken so much from her. So many lives, so many years; so much blood and hatred, and all of it spilled in his name.

For a moment, she was relieved; she was delighted, in fact, to see the fear on his face, to witness with her own eyes that he was not himself immune to what he had inspired in so many others. She watched him, knew the castle would swallow him whole, knew that it would soon be over. That soon, he would be nothing but a pebble among the rubble, and she would have outlasted him; that she would have risen up and won.

But it didn't seem fair, she thought, to leave him this way.

To leave him, and not bear witness to his decay.

"This isn't enough," she seethed, and reached over, snatching the knife from Draco's hand.

"Hermione," he said, chasing after her as she tore through the debris towards Tom Riddle, racing towards the eye of the storm. "Hermione, we don't have _time -_ "

"Hey Tom," she called, licking dust from her lips, and he looked up, his slanted eyes widening as they met hers. "You're going to die," she told him, relishing the words on her tongue. "You're dying, and I wanted to see it happen."

"Hermione," Draco said breathlessly, catching up to her and grabbing her arm. "Come on, please, he's not worth this - "

"Look around," Hermione continued, shrugging out of Draco's reach and not looking away from the man - the _madman_ \- who had once called himself Lord Voldemort. "Do you see this, Tom? You think you own someone because you invade their soul with yours, but you don't. You _don't_ ," she spat, and he seemed to catch sight of the knife in her hand, his expression promptly contorting. "You are not the host, Tom Riddle," she informed him, and then she raised the knife, stabbing it squarely in the middle of his chest.

He let out a piercing scream and she watched without expression, tearing open the cavity of his chest as the life bled out of him in molten waves, year by wretched year, his inhuman face slowly turning to ash and bone in front of her.

"You are not the host," she snarled again, taking a step back. "You are the _virus_. And I," she added, swaying slightly as his eyes, the last vestiges that remained of him, locked on hers. "I will always fucking rise."

She took another few steps back, satisfied that he was gone, and Draco grabbed her around the waist, yanking her after him and sprinting through the hall.

She ran, dazedly, until they reached the edge of the Great Hall, stumbling to a halt as they reached the last of the castle's ruins, overlooking the lake.

"We have to jump," Harry shouted, glancing over his shoulder as Draco and Hermione arrived, panting. "It's the only way we can get out in time."

"From here?" Theo yelled, staring at him. "Have you lost your fucking mind?"

"We're jumping," Draco said firmly, and glanced at Hermione. "Are you ready?"

She locked eyes with him, dazed, and nodded.

"On my count," Harry shouted, as behind them, the highest of the castle towers began to fall, crumbling from its base.

"One - two - _three_ \- "

 _We always fucking rise._

* * *

 **a/n:** Final chapter coming very shortly. The story from the beginning is of Scheherazade from _One Thousand and One Nights_. Dedicated to 65farmergirl and Forever Written in the Stars. Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading!


	31. The Faith in the Horizon

**Chapter 31: The Faith in the Horizon**

 _The day boy; the hunter; so steeped in sun, was raised to hear the change in the wind, to trust the steady beat of his footsteps; to recognize a prize that called to him; and so he drew the night girl close, and on his charge, they forged ahead. Boy and girl headed towards the castle in the distance, watching it come nearer and nearer as they drew to the edge of the forest, locked in a blind embrace._

 _They saw something coming towards them, and for a moment the night girl, her vision tampered, was helpless in sight of it: a shadow; a tremendous beast; a monster. The day boy, shielding the night girl, loosened his knife in his sheath, and drew an arrow from his quiver, lest his first shot fail; he drew it back and struck, and the arrow descended to pierce the monster's heart, prompting a loud, terrifying wail. But the night girl, who clung to the day boy's side, had suffered too long in darkness to put her trust blindly in an arrow's flight; she reached for the knife and buried it in the monster's heart, entombing the blade in its chest._

 _The monster, defeated by the product of its own hand - the boy it had gloried in the day, and the girl it had enslaved in the night - gave a shudder, falling as if it were a stone, and dissolved to rubble as the castle fell around it, buried amidst the wreckage of its gruesome regime. A great cloud came over the sun, and rain began to fall heavily, refreshing the earth; and from the ashes, boy and girl grew strong enough to rise._

 _For what force was night, and what blessing was day, and what did it matter, when girl and boy were joined? And so, together, night and day joined hands, and in the immortality of triumph, the sun rose anew. For the monster had looked upon them and seen them as its prey, never knowing the truth of its sightless error: that alone, boy and girl had feared the monster's wrath, but together they feared nothing, and thus rose eternal in their joining._

* * *

The running jump from the castle's edge into the lake was both imprecise and foolish, something they would never have considered had they possessed even a single wand between them, and Hermione's grip on Draco's fingers tightened painfully only to be ripped away as they cycled their arms through the air, ill-equipped to fly. They smacked hard against the water's surface and Draco, losing sight of the others, was fully submerged, the water ice cold and constricting; he thought he felt his lungs shrivel to nothing as he broke the surface with a gasp, instantly dragged back down.

His first instinct was to look for her. Beneath the surface of the lake the light from the clouded sun was extinguished and Draco was met with panic, with desperation and fear, before emerging from the water's ruptured surface to search for her. The sky was grey and tinted red, rubble from the crumbling castle raining down onto the lake; but Draco, familiar by now with destruction, dove back under without hesitation, struggling to aim himself somewhere they could land.

To say the water was murky was an understatement, but he spotted her, catching the glimpse of gold from her hair, just visible from afar; he kicked himself towards her, cursing his inexperience with water, and reached a hand out for hers.

 _Every wrong I ever committed -_

She seemed to feel him coming towards her and she turned, finding him in the water. She surfaced with a gasp, everything but the rapid cycling of her legs momentarily disappearing from sight, and then forcefully dove towards him.

 _Every foolish decision I ever made -_

Their outstretched hands met and missed, briefly, and he tried again, catching the tips of her fingers this time and letting her pull him up by his wrist.

 _Every truth I denied -_

He launched them both to the surface, yanking her against him by the waist and treading water with his spare arm, both of them coughing up mouthfuls of lake water.

"We," he choked out, sputtering, "we have to get out - "

She nodded mutely, looking around, swiping at her eyes and putting her infallibly logical mind to use.

"There," she said, and pulled him in the direction of the nearest shore.

 _Every lie I believed -_

It was difficult to swim together, perhaps stupid to even try, but Draco found he couldn't let go of her. He couldn't stand the thought of moments apart; of even the smallest chance of drifting.

"Wait," he gasped, pulling her back, and she turned, her eyes wide.

 _You are as much my punishment as you are my inevitability -_

"I love you," he shouted. Partially because it needed to be shouted, because his ears were half-drowned and icily compromised; partially because it had built so long in his chest that his heart refused anything short of catapulting the words from his tongue. "Inevitability," he stammered, floating weightlessly beside her. "Inevitability, and - "

 _You are my privilege and my consequence -_

She shook her head, grabbing his face and dragging his lips to hers.

 _You are my unrelenting fate._

Her fingers, frozen and half-blue, shook against his cheek.

"It doesn't matter," she spilled into his mouth, the words coursing through him as he held her against his chest, keeping them afloat. "Inevitable or not, I choose you," she said, and then, with her arms tight around his neck, she pressed her lips fiercely to his cheek; brutally, as if she thought the words were not enough. As if, by some impossibility, he wouldn't feel them channeling through his bones.

"I love you," she told him, and then it was less a kiss between them than a crash, an impact, the motion of the lake's surface yanking them together and prying them apart only to lose in its pursuits; to find them worthy foes to its churlish flippancy as they held on tight, steadfastly refusing to be parted.

 _A deathless Lord had tried and failed_ , he thought, his lips against hers. _Let a wayward current try._

It took a moment to realize that the drops of water he kept wiping from her frozen cheek - and she from his - were coming from above; they squinted upwards as it began to rain, the castle crumbling in the distance. What had stood for centuries finally met its end, washed clean, and the broken stone shimmered from afar, the magic that had reigned there licking mournfully at the sides of its former walls before vanishing into nothing.

Draco held Hermione in his arms, watching their world fall, and then she looked up, meeting his eye.

"It's over," she said, letting the words out like a captive; setting them free.

 _Today,_ he thought, _together._

"It's over," he agreed, resting his cheek against her forehead.

 _Today_

 _Together_

 _We rise._

* * *

Eventually they were brought to shore; carelessly, as if the celestial hand that had cast them aside to begin with had grown tired of its game. They lurched onto the cold, pebbled beach to fall beside Theo and Harry, who already lay side by side staring at the water. Pieces of the castle sank into the lake, tumbling into it as they had done, and within moments, it was hard to imagine what had stood there before.

It was hard to remember, even, that once upon a time, they had met there as children; had spared moments for tedium and loathing; had learned who and what they were; had worried, foolishly, about the most trivial of things, like whether they bore snakes or lions over their hearts.

There was an emptiness, Hermione thought fleetingly; a shift in the air. A vacancy of sorts that she hadn't been expecting to _feel_ , as though the air around her had been hollowed out. Their past was buried beneath crumbled layers of stone, and Hogwarts, as it had been in their lives and in their hearts, was long gone now.

For a moment, as the rain slowly ceased to fall, they simply mourned in silence.

For a very _short_ moment, that is.

"Well," Theo drawled, drawing himself up on his elbows. "Personally, I think you made quite an unnecessary mess, Draco."

"Christ," Draco sighed. "Really?"

"I mean, I understand you have a flair for the dramatic," Theo continued, "but really, I - "

"For fuck's sake, _shut up_ ," Harry growled, and Theo broke off, astonished, as Harry leaned over, grabbing Theo's face in his hands and kissing him with what Hermione could only assume was a ruthless sort of desperation, one hand on Theo's cheek as the other twisted into the fabric of his shirt. Theo, in turn, lifted one hand to the back of Harry's head, twining his fingers through his unruly salt-and-pepper hair and drawing him closer until he abruptly froze, panting for breath, to surface with Harry's chest pressed against his.

"Oh my," Hermione murmured to Draco, who shrugged, seemingly unimpressed.

Theo, meanwhile, stared blankly up at Harry, his hand still cradling the back of Harry's head, and Harry, for his part, seemed somewhat entranced himself, forcing moisture to his mouth.

"Well," Theo began tentatively, and Harry shook his head, yanking himself free.

"I only get ten years with you," Harry warned, cutting Theo off sharply. "Don't waste a second of it trying to convince me it won't work."

Privately, Hermione thought that was rather a step forward for Harry.

"I wasn't going to," Theo replied without hesitation, sitting up. "I know we'll work, Potter."

Harry frowned. "Okay," he permitted, surprised. "Then - "

"I was just going to ask you where you learned to kiss like a fucking nancy," Theo concluded airily, and Harry groaned.

"I hate you," he snapped, backhanding Theo in the stomach.

"Rightly so," Draco muttered, as Hermione shook her head, pleasantly entertained.

"Love and hate," Theo mused, catching Harry's hand and pulling him into his arms again. "A fine line, don't you think?"

Harry let himself be pulled forward, bracing against Theo's chest. "Not nearly fine enough - "

"God," Draco groaned. "Can you two get a room?"

"And what room, pray tell, would that even _be_ , O Purveyor of Mass Destruction?" Theo asked skeptically, waving a hand at the stone pyre that had once been Hogwarts. "Where on earth are we going, Draco?"

It was a spectacularly answerless question.

"We should find Blaise and Neville," Harry suggested, after a silent moment of collective deliberation. "Shouldn't we? And Pansy and Daphne - "

"Right," Hermione agreed, but she right or not, she was exhausted. Her feet, her lungs, her _soul_ were heavy, and as much as she wanted news, she felt scarcely able to stand.

She felt different; dramatically altered. She pondered the strangeness of the air - the _stillness_ of it - and realized with a start exactly what the vacancy was that she'd been unable to pinpoint. For once, she realized, there were no voices in her head.

Only her own, and then, in a rush of relief, Draco's.

"We'll find them," Draco determined briskly, and launched carefully to his feet, holding a hand out for Hermione at his side. "But first," he murmured, pulling her into him as she accepted his grip, "we should go home."

In a moment of startling realization, Hermione held her breath.

She wasn't sure, firstly, that she could remember the last time she'd been able to make the choice to go anywhere, much less to a place she thought of as home.

Nor was she sure, either, that she'd ever thought of it that way before; of Draco's home being hers. Strangely, though, it felt right.

She looked up, meeting Draco's eye, and spared him an unburdened smile.

"Home," she agreed, and they turned, aiming themselves further onto shore.

"Yeah, okay, but just as a reminder," Theo called after them, raising his voice, " _how_ , exactly, are we going to get there?"

"They're having a moment," Harry growled. "Can you not?"

"Shut up, Potter, or I'll kiss you again - "

"Again? I kissed _you_ , you giant dickhead - "

"Well, quite frankly, you could use some improvement - "

"It's not too late to drown you, Nott - "

"We don't have to take them with us, do we?" Draco murmured in Hermione's ear, slipping his arm around her waist.

She smiled again.

 _How strange_ , she thought, as her lips conjured the motion. _How easily loss could give way to joy._

"Better than a Dark Lord," she reminded him, and together, they began their trudge through the forest.

* * *

 _Boy and girl had not gone far before they met the other huntsmen with whom they had been taught, and told them of the monster's defeat. The huntsmen, who had suffered, looked grave and yet uncertain of their futures; but still, gladness had shone through._

" _Then let us bury the monster together," they said, "and with its absence, start anew."_

* * *

When they finally arrived at the house on Palace Gardens Terrace, it had altered nearly beyond recognition from when they'd left it the morning prior. The second floor, which had been filled with bedrooms, had shrunk down to only two; the solarium was gone, and the dining room, and in its place was a comfortable living room, the fireplaces restored as they warmed beside it, spread across sofas and chairs.

They found the others waiting there for them, sharing tired smiles.

"What now?" Blaise asked, and Neville, and Pansy and Daphne and Hannah and Dean and Seamus and, surprisingly, a weathered Zacharias, as they shared their pieces of the story. Hermione and the others relayed the news that Hogwarts was gone; their friends, after a moment of disbelief, confirmed their requisite moments of success.

Everyone in the castle had gotten out before it fell, it seemed. The Snatchers - Cormac and Marcus and Oliver, among others - had helped to transport all the students and faculty to a series of hideouts protected by Order sympathizers.

"It never died," Neville told them. "Not really. The resistance was mismanaged and disorganized, but there were always people who believed something could eventually come from this."

"Alas, the failures of tyranny," Pansy lamented sarcastically. "A pity to find it so lacking in longevity."

The Death Eaters, in the meantime - the ones that hadn't been killed by Mulciber and Avery during the fight to get out of Hogwarts - had been arrested and detained, pending trials before the Wizengamot.

"The Warlocks were forced to make rulings in Voldemort's favor while he was in charge," Seamus explained, "but most of them did it because they were tortured or threatened, not out of loyalty to him. The foundation's still there."

"What about Mulciber?" Draco asked, and the others turned.

Daphne tilted her head, resting her cheek comfortingly against Pansy's shoulder.

"I'm going to do my best to keep him out of Azkaban," Pansy admitted slowly. "I owe him that much. Our marriage will - " she took a breath, holding it, and exhaled. "Our marriage will stand," she finished. "I'll stand with him."

Daphne's smile flickered, momentarily, and then steadied.

"I'll wait," she murmured, and Pansy turned, brushing her lips gratefully against Daphne's cheek.

Eventually, when their stories ran dry and their tongues grew tired, the night had turned into morning, and as the bottles turned into empty glasses, there seemed a general sense of finality in the air. A need, in a sense, to move forward.

"Well, we should be off," Neville said, gesturing for Hannah, Dean, and Seamus to follow before glancing down at Blaise. "We promised we'd help Cassius and the others with getting people home safely."

"And," Blaise added, rising to join him, "the Ministry is sure to be a mess. Power vacuum," he pointed out, shaking his head. "We should fill it with something good."

"When did you get so noble?" Daphne asked playfully, smiling up at him. Blaise shrugged.

"Don't worry," he assured her, smirking. "I doubt it'll stick."

They left through the Floo, agreeing they'd all talk soon. Hermione watched Blaise settle a fraternal hand on Neville's shoulder, both of them wearied and worn, and had the strangest feeling as she watched; that somehow, things would rebuild, stronger even than the foundation that had been torn apart.

Pansy, meanwhile, headed back to her house.

"I'll have to do some preparation for Darian's trial," she said, "and I should make sure he's doing okay, so - "

She trailed off, shrugging, and smiled weakly. Hermione, for her part, simply nodded back. There would be time, Hermione knew, to see Pansy again. To tell her she'd saved her life; to thank her for the gift of it.

In the moment, though, the shared glance was more than either of them were ready to say.

"What about you?" Hermione asked Daphne when she remained, her phoenix fluttered around her shoulder. "What are you going to do now?"

Daphne shrugged. "Live my own life," she said simply, glancing back at Zacharias. "Pansy still owns a lot of real estate, so she's got a flat for Zach and me to share for a bit. Have to teach him how to do - you know, most things," she added, and laughed a little as she beckoned for him to follow, looking freer and more unimaginably beautiful than Hermione had ever seen her. She held Daphne close and then let her go, certain she would soon find her footing.

Then, when it was only four of them, it was hard not to consider how each of them had changed from the first time Hermione had seen them in that house. Harry, firstly, was scarcely himself. The ten years that the knife had taken left him strangely aged, but beautifully so, and even with what the blade had taken, the tireless youth he'd always carried in his eyes hadn't managed to fade.

"Hey," Hermione murmured, nudging him. "Dead, is it?" she asked, gesturing to her shoulder, and Harry smiled, shifting the torn fabric aside and running his thumb over her skin.

"Worse," he said. "It's preening."

"Optimism," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Intolerable."

"I think it's earned the right to preen, actually," Harry said. "Maybe just a little?"

Hermione smiled, sliding her arms around his neck. "Bummer about the mai tais," she whispered in his ear, and he laughed; a joyful laugh, and one that shook both their shoulders, rumbling around in their chests. Behind him, she caught Theo's eye, and he stepped forward.

"Best fucking friends, Granger?" he asked, and her smile broadened.

"Something like that," she agreed, watching a rare show of sincerity spread across his face.

And then, when Harry had looked solemnly to Theo and both had gone, Hermione turned to Draco, watching the light from the dying fire dance along the edges of his face.

"A boy," she said, holding a hand out to him. "A boy so steeped in sun."

He lifted a brow, playing at offense.

"You," he informed her, taking her fingers and brushing his lips against them, "could have just told me I'd defeat the Dark Lord with a centaur's bow. Could have saved me all that moral quandary," he pointed out.

She laughed. "I wanted you to choose it," she said. "To choose your ending."

"Well," he permitted, resting a hand on the small of her back to lead her up the stairs, "as a divining horse once told me, nothing is ever certain." He took the stairs with a pointed deliberation, as if he wanted to memorize each step. "So I suppose endings aren't either," he concluded after a moment, shrugging.

"Do you think that's true?" she asked him, and he paused, glancing at her. "That nothing is certain, I mean."

He considered it, weighing it in his mind as he looked at her.

"No," he said eventually. "No, I think some things are inescapable."

 _Some things,_ she thought, staring up at him, _are inevitable_.

In that moment, the sun began to creep its way into through the glass, light summoned forth like tendrils from the window beside the stairs. Hermione reached up, brushing the pale glint of Draco's hair from his forehead, and watched the rising sun cast a shadow along the gilded edges of his face.

 _A boy,_ she thought again, _a boy so steeped in sun -_

She raised up on her toes and kissed him, tangling her breath with his, and felt that she tasted certainty, for at least one thing had always been true.

 _The boy, so steeped in sun - she will know him on sight._

* * *

There are some things a person knows by heart: the way the air smells after a rain; the number of steps to ascend a staircase in the dark of his home; the sound of his lover's pulse as she sleeps steadily beside him.

The pattern of his brother's footfall, when he wishes to not get caught.

"Where are you going?" Draco asked, catching Theo mid-stride as he headed down the hall.

Theo sighed, pivoting in place.

"I want my wand back," he supplied flatly, and Draco shook his head.

"You shouldn't go back there right now," he warned, but Theo shrugged.

"Why not?" he asked. "It's not like Voldemort's going to rise up and take it from me, is he?"

"Maybe he is," Draco countered. "What then?"

"Well," Theo remarked, turning to continue down the hall, "lucky you'll be with me, then, I suppose."

They had only one wand between them - lent to them in Hogsmeade for the process of getting home, and therefore not a wand of much use at all - but with the castle's enchantments destroyed, the apparation onto its grounds was fairly easy. They landed unsteadily in what had once been the Great Hall, and Draco instantly grimaced, uncertain if anything that remained would be worth finding.

" _Accio_ wand," he attempted, but as he predicted, nothing happened. He waited, watching the outline of Theo's shoulders, as the other man bent to where the Dark Lord had fallen, sorting through the rubble.

"Hey," Draco said, stepping towards him. "Tell me something."

"Black isn't your color," Theo returned instantly, not looking up, shifting aside a pile of stone. "I think you could go with something softer."

"Not that," Draco sighed impatiently, gripping Theo's shoulder to pause him. "I meant - tell me about - " he hesitated. "The nightmare," he explained, feeling Theo go rigid beneath his touch. "The one he trapped you in. Granger said she saw the ghosts of people who died, but - " he trailed off, watching as Theo bristled apprehensively. "What did you see?"

Theo took several moments, steeling himself; Draco, for his part, knew even before he'd asked it that it would be an unfair question. _He showed me what would hurt me most_ , Hermione had whispered sadly, and once she'd said it, Draco knew he needed Theo's answer. He felt he'd suffer in doubt - in _shame_ \- without it.

Eventually Theo turned, slowly looking up to meet Draco's eye.

"You want to know what I saw?" he asked, his voice abruptly hoarse. Draco nodded mutely, and Theo stood, leveling their gazes. "I saw you," he said quietly, and though it was what Draco had feared he'd say, the impact was no less bruising. "I saw you, suffering. I saw you leaving _me_ to suffer. I saw _us_ , over and over, each time as we had lived it." He paused, swallowing hard. "There is no torture like watching what I would allow you to do to me," Theo finished, his voice breaking, "and knowing what I would do for you, Draco." He broke off, forcefully shutting his eyes. "There is no torture worse than that."

"Theo," Draco said, reaching for him. "I - "

"Don't," Theo warned, shaking his head and stepping away.

Draco, at a loss, permitted him the distance.

"This worked for a time," Theo managed eventually, gesturing between them. "The two of us being our only means for survival. Cursed from birth," he recited with an unsettling laugh, letting the sound devolve to bitterness on his tongue. "But I don't just want to survive," he said, shaking his head. "I only have ten fucking years, Draco, and I want to _live -_ "

"I know," Draco said, breathless. "And so do I, Theo, so do I - "

" - so _this_ ," Theo finished, holding a hand to his chest first and then stretching an arm out to Draco's. "This might be too heavy for me to carry around right now."

Draco, who knew Theo's heart better than anyone, felt it pounding mournfully in the space between them.

"What will you do, then?" Draco managed dazedly, and Theo shrugged.

"Potter wants to make sure Voldemort's threat was just a threat," he said, pulling uncertainly at his mouth. "Wants to make sure there are no more horcruxes."

Draco frowned. "How can he ever be sure of that?"

"I don't know," Theo said, "but he wants to try. And I want to go with him," he exhaled firmly. "I want him, and I want to _get out,_ Draco - "

"Then go," Draco agreed, nodding blankly, because while any other option might have hurt him less, it would have been devastatingly selfish, and he couldn't bear to demand any more from his best friend. "You don't have a lot of time," he added, swallowing. "You should use it."

Theo blinked, the intent of the words sinking in.

"I won't be gone forever," he offered, stepping forward. "You're my best friend, Draco - you're my fucking _brother_. If you need me, if you need _anything -_ "

"I need you to take your life back," Draco said, shaking his head. "I need you to not have taken that Mark for me; to have fought for your conscience from the beginning. And I need you to _forgive_ me," he added painfully, his hand rising helplessly to the ache in his chest, "for asking more of you than I ever should have asked of anyone - "

"Don't," Theo said fiercely, closing the distance between them to throw his arms around Draco's neck, yanking him into his chest. "I meant it, Draco. I'm with you until we fucking die," he said flatly. "Which," he remarked at a mutter, "for me will be relatively soon, so - "

"Stop," Draco said, holding tight to the back of Theo's shirt. "Give me this," he pleaded, and he wasn't sure what he meant; only that he wanted a moment without irony, without falsehood, without bitterness or fear. "Just give me this."

It seemed like weeks before they pulled apart, and then Draco shook his head, ready to abandon the search.

"Those wands are destroyed," he told Theo, as gently as he could manage it. "I know you want it back, but there's no way it survived this."

"Well," Theo murmured, kneeling again, and Draco watched as he gathered a few splinters from the ground. "I suppose it's a lost cause, then."

Draco, without warning, suddenly recalled the motion of the Dark Lord's wand being swallowed up by the castle's toxic consumption; the wand, he realized, that had fallen to where they stood now.

"Ignotus Peverell's wand isn't the one you _actually_ want, is it?" Draco asked, realizing that it was in fact quite another object Theo had come back for.

 _The Deathly Hallows_ , Draco thought, _which would make the bearer invulnerable to death -_

Invulnerable to death; appealing, presumably, to someone with a rather looming end date.

"It's just a story," Draco cautioned, feeling a sense of unease, but Theo turned, holding a warning finger to his lips.

"Don't tell Potter," he warned, and then, aptly - on the strength of another secret - they swore their fealty in a breath.

* * *

At first, the steps were clear: Hogwarts would have to be rebuilt.

Initially it was obvious who should do it. In a world struggling to regain its footing, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger were, in simple terms, a glorified beacon of hope: a reformed Death Eater and a war-criminal-turned-war-hero who had somehow managed to find each other, and in so doing, had founded a revolution. It was almost literary in its appeal, and it seemed they were asked without reprieve to appear in public - to tell their stories, to help the world rebuild.

At first, they very much wanted to.

At _first_.

The first few weeks were an exhausting series of attempts to quell ongoing rebellions; to reestablish order by first reinstating the Ministry, and then gradually chipping away at the undue privileges allotted to Snatchers and privateers. This was trivial at first, a matter of public safety and then a matter of diplomacy, but gradually it was less a hero's obligation than a politician's weighty task, and Draco and Hermione, who were not untainted by their experiences, took a step back to heal. To find their footing in reality.

For them, it started with honesty.

Hermione told Draco of the voices she heard and the faces she saw, and though she never saw them again, she found that unlike before, she no longer feared their return. Instead, she wondered if every warm ray of sunshine were Luna visiting with a smile, or if every stray hum of bliss were Ginny quietly making herself at home. She saw her losses not as ghosts who came to haunt her but as bright flickers of her memory, and gradually, she learned to sleep through the night in Draco's arms.

Draco, by contrast, told Hermione of the blood on his hands and the responsibility he felt weighed on his soul; of the things that he had done and seen that he had feared so desperately that she could not love. She, then, held his face in her hands; told him she loved the man and not his history. Eventually, with her help, Draco cast his own ghosts from his shoulders, finally able to part with them knowing they could all find peace.

They healed, slowly. Together, they rebuilt.

By the time Blaise suggested they discuss the school, though, a certain longing had begun to fester in both Draco and Hermione; a distracting tug of yearning in their chests. When Hermione looked at Draco, she saw only the light from his edges; as if she could see him elsewhere, set amongst the stars. When Draco looked at Hermione, he couldn't help but think of her in shades of blue; in gold, wrapped tightly in the delicate rays of the sun.

When Blaise suggested a new castle be built as the founders had done, it seemed they would be obvious participants; but when they looked at each other, they only saw the freedom still to come.

"We should do it, shouldn't we?" Hermione murmured, her lips against the skin of Draco's chest. "I suppose we have a duty to rebuild it," she said, though what she meant was _sadly, responsibility compels us yet again._

"It's an honor, in a way," Draco added, though his intent was _honestly,_ _it sounds exhausting._

"We did want our version of Hogwarts back," Hermione permitted. "We could do it right this time," she added, though she could have just as easily said _I'm too shaken still, and too fragile, and too lost._

"Did we really want it back, or could we just as easily have a future that's entirely new?" he asked, and what he meant was _all magic comes at a cost, and even when it's a price worth paying, this is a cost I don't think I can bear._

Hermione looked up, meeting his eye. "Who would do it if we didn't?" she asked, and she meant _who would we trust not to screw things up?_

Draco shrugged. "Blaise and Neville," he suggested, "and Pansy and Daphne. House loyalty aside, they all couldn't be more different," he added, by which he indicated _fuck houses - they never worked anyway._

Hermione shifted, resting her chin on his chest. "I love you," she said, and that was her intent.

He leaned forward, drawing her lips to his.

"The only thing I want is to love you," he confessed, and those words, too, were sincere.

They marinated in silence for a moment, waiting, and then Hermione rose to her feet, walking towards the window. In her wake, the skin of her shoulders seemed to illuminate the room; and even though Draco knew on some practical level that she was just reflecting the light from the moon, he would have sworn on his life that it was Hermione herself who possessed a glow.

He looked up, catching a glimpse of the moon from the open window, and felt a slight smile as it cast a cool shadow on her skin.

"Marry me," he said, and in retrospect, he wished he had made it more of a question, but the words had fallen from his tongue with almost none of his permission. She turned, startled, and then the presence of mind to rise up and fall at her feet finally arrived and Draco took her hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles as he knelt down in front of her.

"Please," he murmured, "marry me. I can't promise it'll be easy," he said. "I can't promise that we won't argue, or that our pasts won't matter, or that we won't still encounter hate outside these walls - but I need you to know that I'm yours. I need you to know that I've been bound to you by years and years of nothing more than circumstance," he exhaled slowly, "and by forces out of my control, but I desperately want to change that." He kissed her hand again, closing his eyes. "I want to be bound to you by choice. By _vow_ ," he said, and bowed his head, apologetically. "I know it sounds stupid - I know we're young, and it's too soon, but - "

She cut him off, bending to wrap her arms around him, and a curtain of her curls - now back to their normal shade of golden-brown, much to his relief - floated around his shoulders, filling him with reverence that left him breathless, exalted, and spinning dazedly in her wake.

"Where would we go?" she asked, staring at him, and she meant _when do we leave?_

"Everywhere," he said, and kissed her; and with that, he promised: _tonight_.

* * *

 _With the monster defeated, the day boy and night girl were urged to rebuild; to reconstruct the castle as they'd known it, and to tell others of the story as they had lived it. But the day boy, having gained wisdom from the night girl's light, and courage from her spirit, would not set out until he had been joined to her by more than inevitability, or the careless whims of fate._

" _For then, what monster could ever part us?" he implored her, kneeling before her with her hand clasped tight in his. "If ever two people could not be one without the other, those two are you and I. You have taught me to be a brave man in the dark, and in turn, I have looked after you; that I may show you that there is always light."_

* * *

"They're not up there," Theo said, frowning, as he came down the stairs. "The bedroom's still there, but I don't know," he murmured uneasily. "The house is different."

"It's certainly quiet," Harry said, equally basking in confusion. "Did you see anything? A note, or something?"

"I haven't checked Draco's study," Theo permitted, gesturing for Harry to follow him down the hall. He opened the door slowly, checking inside, and then noticed the envelope on the desk. "Here," he said, handing it to Harry. "Granger's handwriting, with your name on it."

"Huh," Harry said, glancing over it. "This is dated a week ago."

"Explains why Daphne told us to check on them, then," Theo said, shrugging, and nudged Harry's hand as he eyed the outside of the envelope. "Open it faster, Potter, _Christ_ ," Theo sighed. "I only have ten years - "

"Will I ever get sick of that, I wonder?" Harry mused, shaking his head and glancing down. "Oh," he remarked, blinking with surprise as he scanned her letter. "Odd."

"What is it?" Theo asked, peering over his shoulder. "What'd she say?"

"Hush," Harry said, reaching back to wrap an arm around Theo's chest, drawing him in and holding him still. "I'm trying to read."

"Yes, well, if you could do me the fucking _honor_ of reading faster - "

"Quiet," Harry warned, biting on Theo's ear and relishing the thrill up his own spine, wondering whether he'd ever tire of that particular sensation. "I'm reading, Nott."

Theo sighed, resting his chin on Harry's shoulder.

"Well?" he asked impatiently, after Harry lowered the page. "Anything interesting?"

"Yes, actually," Harry said, " _if_ you speak fluent Hermione Granger. Which, coincidentally," he added pointedly, "I do."

"You're boring me," Theo complained, elbowing Harry in the ribs and ignoring the sharp thud to his own. "What is it?"

"It's a story," Harry replied, which clearly had not been what Theo was expecting.

"What story?" he demanded, and Harry pulled a bottle of Ogden's from Draco's desk, pouring them each a glass.

"Have you ever heard the story of the day boy and the night girl?" Harry asked, passing a glass to Theo and then settling himself back against the desk, strangely satisfied.

Theo shrugged. "What does it start with?"

"A boy raised only in the day," Harry said, "and a girl raised only in the night."

"Huh," Theo replied. "And what does it end with?"

Harry paused, glancing down at Hermione's letter in his hands, and smiled.

"Oh, you know," he said. "The usual."

* * *

 _And so the boy and girl were married, and though they were offered rewards beyond their imaginings for their triumphs over the monster, they chose instead each other; for they did not think they could explain in words the strange things they had learned. That light is light, in day or night, and that hope may bloom eternal; that even monsters will fail to stand against what is good, and yet may conjure strength where they seek to punish._

 _What a luxury it is to be in love, they thought, and to build a life from nothing; to have suffered as we have suffered, and still to rise as we have risen._

* * *

She hadn't worn white, and the ring wasn't a diamond, but still: it had been perfect.

The priest who agreed to do the ceremony for the two young wanderers had seemed surprised by the asking, wondering why they'd brought no friends or loved ones. He asked them why they'd chosen a tiny, roofless chapel in the Highlands when surely they'd want dancing - would want a party filled with the simple, noisy joy of two lives becoming one, as young wanderers often do.

They, in turn, replied that this was not a destination; merely a stopover on the journey.

"I promise to comfort you," he said to her, "and carry you when you're brought low."

"I promise to defend you," she said back, "and stand when you cannot."

"I promise to honor you," he said, "and take nothing for granted."

"I promise to have faith in you," she said, "even when you doubt."

"I promise that every day," they told each other, "you will know that you are loved."

"I promise to build my home with you," they swore, "and carry you in my heart."

 _Where would you be, a step back?_

"Here," they promised each other. "Here, and sooner."

For all the moments passed in hesitation, in apprehension and mistrust, they built themselves another story. For every second spent in doubt, they wrote themselves anew. And when they had bound themselves to each other - when no force on earth could part them; not man nor lord nor hand of fate - it seemed to them that they'd been given the gift of a clean slate.

By the time they shared a bed that night, they each knew the shape of the other; had learned them like the thrum of their own pulse. He knew her by the intake of her breath, and she knew him by the motion of his touch, and whatever they had been before, they were all of that and more; they were inevitability, and they were punishment, and they were wonder and exultation and awe. He slid his hands along her waist and she dug her nails into his back and this was rapture, and it was hard-fought and hard-won, and they reveled in the reward of it; in the lives they took back from a monster.

There was one kiss in particular; one moment. Less, even. Just a beat of adoration, his hair falling forward onto her shoulder and her back arching towards his and nothing but gasps between them, when his eyes and hers found each other. For a moment - a fleeting pulse - they each spared a breath of veneration for the other, and she wanted for nothing while he found company in the resilience of her heart.

Life is so seldom about the heights and depths, after all; so rarely defined by the summits and the lulls. There are moments of beauty in the midst of floors and ceilings, and this, for them, was one. _They_ were one, and elsewhere, the earth turned; the moon beckoned; the sun rose.

In their bed that evening, as the light from the candles flickered out, the night girl finally told the day boy the ending; _their_ ending.

And as she spoke, he found he'd known the words by heart.

* * *

 _Hardly any time had passed before the night girl came to love the day best, because it was the crown of the day boy, and he more exalted than the moon; and the day boy came to love the night best, because it had borne the night girl, and she more brilliant than the sun._

" _But perhaps," the night girl said to the day boy, "in love, shall we not come to find a day as much greater than this one as your day is greater than my night?"_

 _And the day boy, who had learned faith in the horizon, promised her this:_

" _Let sun, or moon, or monsters come; for always, we will rise."_

* * *

 _ **FIN**_

* * *

 **a/n:** To Sally, without whom this story would not exist; to Shenans, who patiently endured my various struggles throughout its process; and to every person who has loved this story, and felt it as thoroughly as I have.

There are stories I write easily and stories that take pieces from my heart, and this one is the latter. As always, if you liked it, I appreciate recommendations to any friends, blogs, groups, etc, but this one in particular is a privilege just to have written. I have a weakness for fairytales, and I will consider it the honor of my fanfic career if I have given you one that will stay with you for a while.

As you might have noticed, there is no epilogue to this story because I've left it open for a sequel that features Theo and Harry. Similar to this one, it will be based on one overarching story with fairytales/myths/literature woven throughout, as well as flashbacks to their time apart. I likely will not begin it for some time (I'd like to get through some of my other stories first), but if you're interested, continue following this story and I will post here when I have begun it.

Find me on Spotify for a playlist that goes with the story, on Tumblr for updates on other ongoing works like _How to Win Friends and Influence People_ and _Nobility_ , and look out for part II of my _Alpha_ graphic novel collaboration with Little Chmura at the end of August (go to: _enter_ (dash) _alpha_ dot _com_ for more information).

It has been an honor to put these words down for you, and I truly hope you enjoyed the story.

xx Olivie


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